Moon Shadows
by valleyforge
Summary: A post WISC story. For Bialar Crais the journey had only just begun.
1. Prologue

Setting: Moon Shadows takes place immediately after WISC. I've never accepted the idea that Crais died, but sadly we'll never know if he would have returned in season five. Sometimes you've just got to write your own ending.  
  
Disclaimer: Farscape obviously does not belong to me. I'm just going to borrow Crais because DK didn't seem to be using him at the moment.  
  
Many thanks to SciFiChick66 and DJ3cats for the beta!  
  
Thanks for reading. I appreciate your comments.  
  
  
  
Moon Shadows  
  
Prologue  
  
  
  
The distance between them and the carrier's last location was less than four arns at a speed of hetch five. The failure of the energy stream to properly channel might have been a factor, or the increased hull temperature. Crais was not certain what caused the abnormally short jump. It no longer mattered. His first priority was to plot a course as far away from the Peacekeepers as possible.  
  
He hoped the others had escaped safely, especially Aeryn. He could not help but worry about her. She had confided in him, a final gift of trust that made the sacrifice he offered easier to make. Perhaps the child she bore would have a chance to grow up with a loving parent, free from Peacekeeper domination.  
  
Still, he did not envy her situation. The man she loved was gone, and while it could be argued the other was an exact physical duplicate, he was truly not the same. Although less than a cycle of life had distinguished the two, from the microt they were twinned their lives took separate paths. A small part of the John Crichton who gave his life at Dam-Ba-Da believed in Bialar Crais, or maybe only wanted to believe. The inevitability of his death had left him little choice. Yet, the remaining Crichton had doubted him to the end. If not for Aeryn's influence, the human would never have agreed to his plan to implode the carrier. He wished it could have ended differently between them, with a civil word or perhaps even a handshake. Not that it mattered. Another could not grant the forgiveness he sought.  
  
An arn had already passed. Since there was no reason to believe they had survived, he doubted that the Peacekeepers or Moya's crew would be searching for them. The greatest risk of discovery came from vessels in the quadrant rushing to assist the doomed carrier.  
  
He worked quickly. Fortunately, the Peacekeepers' first priority had been to strip Talyn of his weapons, leaving his cartographs, data stores and maintenance bay supplies intact. The galley provisions also remained untouched. Everything Crais needed was still aboard; stevva crystals, chakan oil and threekay wire.  
  
During the past cycle he and Talyn had collected all the data available on the remote, sparsely populated region known as Sector 12. Rumor had it that several colonies of Sebaceans, many of them former Peacekeepers, inhabited the planets Tarn and Mayatta7. Their lack of strategic positioning and raw materials had failed to attract the interest of either the Peacekeepers or the Scarrans. Even the opportunistic Nebari and Hynerians found too little to make a presence there worthwhile. To reach Tarn or Mayatta7, he would first have to navigate undetected through the quadrant and then slip though the Scarran held territories.  
  
Almost too quickly, it was time. He set the last charge and activated the detonating sequence. In his haste he had managed to keep his grief at bay. He hesitated at the base of the boarding ramp and turned back, his eyes recording a final image, an imagined voice still rippling in his head.  
  
His original plan was to destroy only the command area to cover his escape. Yet while collapsing the frontal tiers would serve his purpose, Crais knew that Talyn would not want to be boarded by the Peacekeeper Leviathan team, likely under Lieutenant Larrel's direction. It was probably best this way. There would be nothing left to study, perhaps a few small identifiable pieces at best...enough possibly for his mother to mourn, but little else.  
  
As he had finally spoken his heart to Aeryn, and then Crichton aboard the carrier, he had done the same with Talyn during the hybrid's final moments. There were no regrets this time, no thoughts left buried to sprout guilt and eat away inside of him. Talyn fully understood the risk and had agreed of his own volition. In the end he had chosen to protect Crais above himself. The pattern of hull damage revealed that the Leviathan's shields were concentrated around Crais' location during starburst. While Talyn might not have survived even with his shields uniformly deployed, his actions had undoubtedly saved the Sebacean's life.  
  
Crais launched the pod from Talyn's main hangar deck. The blast caught the ship from behind, pitching it forward in its wake. Within microts the turbulence crested and broke, a wave of energy spent in the vast ocean of space. He never looked back.  
  
In every sense of the word, Renegade Peacekeeper Captain Bialar Crais also died that day. The man aboard the transport pod fast disappearing into the distance took nothing of that life with him. The regret and the anger of his former self floated away, dispersed like the molecules of a Leviathan gunship who no longer existed. He had kept his word, paid his debts. In a remote corner of the galaxy, without the burden of an unforgiving past, he would begin again. 


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  
  
  
  
"We'll set down after dark," Crais said.  
  
After five full monens he still spoke aloud to the transport pod.  
  
By paying a premium to refuel from transports, he had avoided coming face to face with another being during that entire time. Now, with his supplies gone, his currency low, he would finally be forced to risk contact. He maneuvered the pod into orbit around Riist, a class M commerce planet in the outer most quadrant of Sector 12. Surface scans revealed a handful of freighters and one-man vessels, but no military ships. Not even Peacekeeper wanted beacons could penetrate this far into the galaxy.  
  
The port city of Joobah would be dark in another arn. It would take him that long to prepare himself. Standing inside the cramped shower and toilet stall, he carefully examined the man who stared back at him in the mirror. The goatee had disappeared into a full beard monens ago and the wild shock of black hair now hung halfway to his elbows. A loose, tan overshirt draped a frame some twenty pounds lighter.  
  
He massaged the course, tight beard between his fingers, removed a razor and sculpted it back to its familiar appearance. Starting at his temples, he swept his hair back with both hands and held it there, examining the result before finally letting it fall loose again.  
  
The lack of companionship no longer tormented him. He had grown accustomed to the solitude and the company of his own thoughts. Anger. Remorse. Love. Each of them analyzed, finally to be accepted or let go. In retrospect, he felt he had spent his entire life alone, with the exception of perhaps Tauvo. Yet, even his own brother had never really known him. He had not allowed him to. They grew up surrounded by strangers who wore uniforms that made them look alike, act alike and think alike; and still, they were never truly the same as the others.  
  
He planned to stay on Riist only long enough to take on provisions, refuel and inquire about the Sebaceans on Tarn. Though remote, because of its location, Riist saw the most traffic of any commerce planet in the sector. The shorter his stay here, the better.  
  
Within microts of landing a Viconda trader had already coiled himself at the base of the pod's boarding ramp. The species lack of legs and their hissed manner of speech had always unsettled Crais, yet they often proved themselves to be capable purveyors.  
  
"Help you, sir?"  
  
Crais noted the Viconda's length and kept his distance from the reptiliate. "Supplies, cesium and information. In that order, and quickly." He rested a hand on the butt of the pulse pistol tucked inside his waistband.  
  
The Viconda slank back a metra, bobbing his scaled head in acknowledgement. "I am A'Rhue. I can be of service. Ten percent of the gross. Have you on your way in two arns."  
  
"Five percent. One arn. And a portion of the payment will be barter.a pulse rifle."  
  
"Pulse rifle?" A'Rhue released multiple puffs of air in a semblance of laughter. "Another deserter? Why is it your kind always gives up the pulse rifle first and keeps the side arm?"  
  
Crais strode past the Viconda in the direction of Joobah.  
  
"I accept your terms." A few quick thrashes of his tale propelled A'Rhue back in front of the Sebacean. "I will require the credits up front. You understand that food cubes are the best I can do on such short notice, but the knowledge is free.if I have it."  
  
"I seek information on the inhabitants on Tarn and Mayatta7."  
  
A'Rhue was quick to answer. "Tarn supports the larger population of the two. Your kind has not fared as well on Mayatta7 due to the unpredictability of the weather."  
  
Crais' brow furrowed.  
  
"Heat spells . . . usually only bad enough to keep them inside and uncomfortable. Occasionally a few die. Aside from that, the planet has the better soil and longer planting seasons of the two. You will be forced to refuel again if Tarn is your destination though. Can you afford the cesium?"  
  
"Tarn is the closer of the two," Crais stated with certainty.  
  
"True, but a direct route is inadvisable. The Draegen and the Tah have been at war for three cycles. It will be over soon, but in the meantime the Draegen continue to shoot down anything that violates their air space." The Viconda lowered himself into a thick coil, his head adjacent to Crais' waist. "Unless this transport can outrun a Draeg Cruiser, I suggest you take the long way."  
  
The Sebacean came to one knee, peering directly into the reptiliate's florescent yellow eyes. "You say it will be over soon?"  
  
"The Tah were defeated over a cycle ago, yet they still fight."  
  
Crais nodded. "For how long?"  
  
"Days, weekens, perhaps a monen. Genocide ought not be hurried."  
  
A'Rhue pointed a tiny, clawed arm in the direction of Crais' pulse pistol. "Your side arm might fetch enough credits to refuel on Tyor. Give me a couple of arns to advertise and I could get you more for both the weapons."  
  
"I'll not be unarmed."  
  
"Have you anything else of value?"  
  
Crais rested an elbow on his knee, his eyes fixed on the ground. He looked up to the Viconda and shook his head. "My journey has been long. I have few remaining resources."  
  
"There is another option. The Prowlers that most of your *associates* on Tarn arrive in are worth far more, but your transport would still fetch a tidy sum. I could sell it and book passage for you. You would still be a wealthy man once you reached there. Few ships travel that quadrant so it might take a few weekens to arrange, but you have my guarantee, I will get you there."  
  
Again, he shook his head negatively. "No, I will not be unarmed or without transportation. On this there is no negotiation."  
  
"As you wish." The Viconda held open a leather pouch fasted just below his short, scaly arms. "The credits now, the pulse rifle upon delivery of the cesium and food cubes."  
  
Crais hesitated, but reluctantly removed the credits from his shirt pocket and dropped them into the pouch. He stood as the Viconda also arced upward to his full height. "I will also require fresh drinking water."  
  
"Place your containers on the tarmac. It will be done."  
  
Crais nodded, backed away, turned and boarded the transport.  
  
# # #  
  
He left orbit immediately after taking on the cesium and set a course for Tarn. Just as A'Rhue had said, the shortest, most fuel-efficient route passed directly between the planets Draegen and Tah. If the Viconda's information continued to be correct, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, only the Draegens posed a threat. If he avoided that quadrant entirely there would still be enough fuel to reach his destination, but not enough to leave. The possibility he would not be welcomed on Tarn could not be entirely dismissed. After five monens of dodging the Peacekeepers and Scarrans, less than one solar day avoiding the Draegens should pose no problem. He switched the controls to autopilot for the final two arns before he entered their airspace.  
  
Slipping out of his clothing and into loose exercise trousers, he performed a series of stretches, followed by circulatory stimulants, and lastly, strength moves. The exercise regimen lasted an arn, twice a day, followed by reading, enigmas and other solitary puzzles. He rewrote one letter a hundred or more times. He did not intend it to be read or delivered, yet it occupied his time. It seemed odd to fear writing words that no one would ever see, as though their mere formation branded him. As often as he changed the text, it always began the same: I am your son.  
  
He had changed his mind about what he would reveal to the colonists on Tarn nearly as often as he changed the content of his letter home. Was it better to have his past out in the open than live in fear of its discovery? He feared it was a question he could not answer until the situation was at hand. Still, in the event they rejected him, he had to preserve his options. With over three million Peacekeepers in service during the span of his career, and only one hundred thousand colonists on Tarn, it was possible that no one there had ever heard of Captain Bialar Crais. Yet, it would take only one man or woman with knowledge of his past to turn sentiment against him.  
  
True, they themselves had once been Peacekeepers who killed innocents and destroyed families, yet they could absolve themselves of the blood on their hands by saying they merely followed orders. He too had followed orders, but the methods were his own. Experience taught him that the hardest and the cruelest advanced. There was no room at the top for mercy or any other such weakness. From a young age he chose his path, knowing full well that his soul would pay the price. Over the cycles everything that once was Bialar Crais, son of a Sebacean farmer, slipped further away, until that moment alongside Lieutenant Teeg when it disappeared all together.  
  
The control panel squawked in response to a warning buoy's signal that they were about to enter restricted airspace. Crais quickly pulled his hair back into a tight knot and slipped on his full-length, black jacket. The uniform was a bluff, possibly even a gamble. While some species still feared the Peacekeepers, others shot them on sight.  
  
Instrumentation did not reveal any ships within scanning range so he pushed the throttle wide open and plotted a course straight through Draegen airspace. Although the buoy would transmit a report to the nearest Draegen vessel when the transport pod violated their territory, it was possible that a small craft not bearing a Tah signature might be ignored.  
  
Ahead, an asteroid field, likely the remnants of a Tah moon, maintained orbit between the two planets. Talyn would have flown straight through the debris, but the smaller pod could not withstand the pounding. Just as he altered trajectory to avoid them, a flurry of blips appeared on the tracking screen, closing quickly. On visual they appeared Prowler-sized, armed, and no doubt, Draegen. Sensors warned the ships had just targeted the transport. He immediately opened a comm channel.  
  
"I am Captain Bialar Crais. My destination is Tarn. Acknowledge."  
  
Scans detected a surge of thermal energy from the Draegen ships, weapons coming on line.  
  
"Acknowledge and identify," Crais repeated firmly.  
  
He banked the pod sharply in anticipation of the attack. The first shot missed his bow by hentas.  
  
"Cease fire," he shouted. "I wish to surrender."  
  
A second shot disintegrated a small asteroid. The force of the blast pitched him against the hull and then dropped him to the deck. He scrambled back to the controls and accelerated straight into the field. Tiny chucks of iron peppered the hull as he maneuvered through the belt. He steered for the largest iron mass and tucked in behind it for protection. His attackers quickly realized the tactic and began to pound the one km-sized planetoid with fire.  
  
Although the Draegen ships had made no direct hits on the pod, sections of the asteroid's perimeter began to crumble under the assault. Crais saw the boulder coming, but there was nowhere left to go. The piece struck just below the treblin side hatch, sheered off a stabilizer flap and then crushed one of the atmospheric sensor plates. The pod veered sharply to the right, took a second solid hit to the underside and spun out of control. Within microts Tah's gravity began to drag the crippled transport down into its atmosphere.  
  
He quickly disabled all systems except environmental support in a futile attempt to bring the power back online. According to the kelva reading, the power coils were undamaged, yet would not ignite. The cesium tanks still read 93 percent of capacity, so they had not ruptured, but the fuel was not reaching the coils.  
  
If he could hold the craft's nose up and maintain thrust long enough to find a flat stretch of ground, he might be able to land; however, he had to have propulsion. Unless he changed the trajectory of descent, the transport would either burn up in the atmosphere or disintegrate on impact. As the speed of descent increased, the pod's violent vibrations threatened to tear the hull apart.  
  
"Switch to fueling reserve," Crais shouted at the craft as he flipped the toggle to bypass the main fuel supply. "Increase the supply to maximum." The small reserve tank that kept the cesium feed uninterrupted during mid- flight refueling fed from a separate line on the underside of the ship. At minimum thrust the backup supply could power the pod for a quarter arn, less than half that at maximum.  
  
The microt the panel showed power, Crais pulled the craft out of its steep dive. The pod bucked and pitched, the effects of the damage to the treblin stabilizer flap costing precious time and cesium.  
  
"Calculate estimated remaining fuel at present rate of decline to planet's surface." He growled in response as the resulting schematic forecast he would still lose thrust a full metra above Tah's surface. An uncontrolled landing was difficult under the best of circumstances, and this was not the best of circumstances. He laid in a steeper rate of descent to preserve fuel and braced himself for impact.  
  
# # #  
  
The pod came in on its belly and sliced through a metra of mud and foliage, which now completely obscured the view screen. The hull remained intact and rested in 12 to 15 denches of water. Sensors confirmed a breathable atmosphere.  
  
A wave of warm, moist air rushed in as the hatch door popped open. The boarding ramp slapped the water and found solid ground. Crais quickly shed his long coat and, from the ramp, tested the bottom with a severed tree branch. The water was at most knee-deep, thick with vegetation and dense, waist-high grass. He stepped carefully from the ramp and slowly sloshed around the pod's perimeter, surveying the damage, or surprisingly, the lack of it. Other than the missing flap and crumpled sensor, the visual damage consisted of dents and scrapes.  
  
He worked his way around the rear of the transport and suddenly froze. From the boarding ramp, a crouched figure with a pulse rifle rested casually across his knee, stared back. The intruder's eyes dipped to Crais' holstered pulse pistol and then up, waiting.  
  
He might have been Sebacean, Crais could not tell. "What do you want?" he asked, his hand poised close to his pistol.  
  
The man grinned, stood and retreated a step, keeping the gun barrel pointed skyward. He was half a head taller than Crais, younger, bald except for a circular hank of black hair at the back of his head that was tied with a strap and then hung full and loose to the middle of his back. "Unless you've got leathers all the way up to your mivonks, I suggest you get out of that water. There's kree-kree in there.  
  
"Kree-kree?" He cast a suspicious eye down at the water before wading toward the ramp and stepping up. "Who are you?"  
  
The stranger bent slightly at the waist and dipped his head, his dark eyes remaining fixed on Crais. "Ke'air Masahje, at your service. Defender of Tah. Pilot and Anjeluh constituent. Son of Orskin and Kintera. "  
  
"Yes, well . . . that is most impressive," Crais grunted. He stepped back inside the hatch and removed the treblin access panel adjacent to the main fuel feed. As he suspected, the line was completely pinched off, which was actually fortunate, because had it ruptured, the cesium would now be gone and he would be stranded.  
  
"Ke'air Masahje," the figure repeated from the hatchway. "And you might be?"  
  
"Crais. Bialar Crais," he answered, without looking over.  
  
"Well, Bialar Crais, I suggest you completely shut down the power in this ship and accompany me to Anjeluh before nightfall. If the water can cool the hull sufficiently by then, the Draeg may miss it during their flyovers. It it's still here tomorrow we come back and fix it."  
  
"We?" Crais stopped and shot him a curious glance. "This ship is my only way off this swamp and I do *not* intend to leave it."  
  
Ke'air Masahje approached and settled on one knee alongside the Sebacean, who continued to inspect the damage inside the panel. "Were you warned not to fly through Draegen airspace?"  
  
"Yes, I was," Crais articulated in a loud, succinct voice.  
  
Ke'air grimaced and shook his head. "But you did it anyway, didn't you?"  
  
Crais clamped the fuel line in two places and then selected a prism blade from the tool compartment to remove the damaged middle section. He had begun to cut when a hand dropped on his shoulder and pulled him around.  
  
"You listen to me good, Bialar Crais. The Draegen are nothing but Drak on two legs. They like the dark. Nightfall . . . that's when they come. If there is so much as a trad of power coming from this ship, they will find it and blow it up."  
  
Crais knocked the offending hand from his shoulder and turned back toward the panel.  
  
"And if you do manage to fix it, what then? You ain't gonna make orbit before they blast your eema back outta the sky. Tell you what . . . I get mad too when they shoot me down, but I don't get frelling stupid over it. I got no more time for you, my brother. You either come now, or you stay here and die."  
  
"I am *not* your brother," Crais turned and snarled. "Now get off my ship."  
  
The Tah stood and stared, his mouth and brow scrunched into a curious wrinkle. He shrugged and after several microts, walked out onto the boarding ramp. "Before you go getting yourself killed, you better let me show you something out here."  
  
"What is it?" Crais growled as he stepped through the hatch.  
  
He never saw the fist coming. 


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
He awakened on a small bed, stripped of his clothing, covered with a heavy quilt that smelled of a sweet, subtle vanilla musk. The room was circular with a dome-shaped ceiling, a small fire in the central stone hearth providing the only source of light. A few straight-backed chairs and dressers lined the walls. The man who called himself Ke'air Masahje and a young woman whispered across a table on the opposite side of the room. They hurried to his bedside the microt he stirred.  
  
She placed her hands against his shoulders. "You rest now."  
  
Crais brushed her aside with a sweep of his arm and sat upright. "Where are my clothes?"  
  
Ke'air Masahje's hand came down in the middle of Crais' chest and shoved him back onto the bed. "If you touch my sister like that again, I will see to it that you take another little nap. Do you understand me, Bialar Crais?"  
  
"Ke'air." her voice warned.  
  
"You got no manners, my friend."  
  
Crais remained on his back, his dark eyes challenging the man whose hand still pinned him firmly to the bed. "And I told you before, I am not your brother *nor* your friend. Now take your hand off me."  
  
"Ke'air, let him up." She pulled his arm away and positioned herself between the two men. "Your clothes were wet and dirty when my brother brought you in. I laundered them, but they're not dry yet."  
  
"I had to drag your sorry eema a long way through the mud," Ke'air spat from over her shoulder. "I should have left you to the Draeg, for all the thanks I get."  
  
"I do not recall asking for your assistance."  
  
"Maybe next time I don't give it. I'll take you back tomorrow just to be rid of you. Until then, you shut your trat hole and-"  
  
"Ke'air, that is enough!" Despite his protests, she shoved him step at a time to the opposite side of the room. After a brief, one-sided conversation the brother threw up his arms and dropped into a chair. She warned him to stay put with a look that could melt metal and returned to Crais' bedside.  
  
"I am Toma Masahje, Ke'air's sister."  
  
"How very unfortunate for you," he grunted in response.  
  
"Maybe Ke'air didn't have time to explain things so good, so you listen to me now."  
  
"Have I a choice?" Crais snorted.  
  
Without warning and with unexpected speed she grabbed a piece of loose flesh on the inside of his bicep and gave it a vicious twist. He let out a shout and jerked his arm away, tugging the quilt up across his chest.  
  
"That hurts, don't it?" Ke'air called from across the room.  
  
Toma did not appear intimidated by the harsh look he gave her; in fact, she returned it with equal aplomb. He noticed a strong resemblance between the two, the same high cheekbones with mahogany-colored, almond-shaped eyes that bordered on, yet were not truly exotic. A full head of sleek, black hair fell loosely around her waist. He guessed they were both no more than thirty cycles and close in age.  
  
"Are you ready to listen now?" she asked.  
  
"Get on with it," Crais grunted.  
  
"The people of Tah have been under siege for over a cycle now. Each day more of us die, and each day we have less to fight back with. But we continue to live as we have always lived. We take care of our own and we help others when we can. The Draeg will never take that from us."  
  
Crais settled back onto his elbows without comment.  
  
Toma leaned a bit closer to speak, her eyes fixed on his. The light vanilla fragrance that permeated the quilt grew stronger with her presence. "Ke'air thought only to save you when it did not appear that you understood the danger of your situation. Yet, if it is your wish to die attempting to flee the Draeg, rather than wait for them to take your life here on the surface, that is your right. We will take you back to your ship and give whatever assistance we can."  
  
While she spoke her brother approached quietly from across the room and settled cross-legged on the floor a few hentas from the bed.  
  
"Why are these Draeg so intent on killing your people?" he asked.  
  
"The Draeg are arthropod," Ke'air said. "They multiply like suitors for a rich trelk, but they are not of hardy stock like the Tah. Every fifty or sixty cycles a virus comes and kills most of them. Then they have to start all over again."  
  
"Their rapid breeding was necessary to make sure their species survived," Toma explained.  
  
Crais nodded as Ke'air slid closer. "But they finally figured out how to prevent these epidemics. It's been nearly a hundred cycles since the last big plague on Draegen and now they are practically crawling over each other there."  
  
Crais rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. "And you were worried that if you let them migrate to Tah they would eventually overrun this planet as well?"  
  
Ke'air was crouched alongside the bed now, his face red and angry. Toma rested a hand on his shoulder, but let him speak. "They gave us an ultimatum. We were to remove all of our people from the green havens and not resist colonization, or they would wage war upon us."  
  
"And naturally the Tah resisted," Crais replied with an understanding nod.  
  
"No!" Toma cried out. "We did not."  
  
"They attacked without waiting for our response," Ke'air snarled. "They killed our leaders, destroyed most of our factories and our cities in the first strike. They gave us no chance to offer our help."  
  
"It was never the Draegs' intent to share this planet," Toma added coldly.  
  
Crais tilted his head and gave Ke'air a questioning look. "The Draegen completely destroyed your industrial capabilities three cycles ago?"  
  
"What you are really asking is, 'why aren't we already dead' . . . yes?"  
  
"Even my limited experience with the Draegen compels me to believe that they could end this conflict at any time. It would appear they control the airspace."  
  
Before Ke'air could answer, Toma patted her brother's shoulder. With only a determined look and a pointed finger, she directed him to take a seat. He frowned, but complied, which Crais found somewhat amusing, given he was a head taller and twice her weight.  
  
"Our centers of learning, medicine and manufacture were all located in the stilted cities," she said. "Although their benefits were given freely to all, many of the Tah with fewer resources still lived in the green havens."  
  
"Like this poor boy," Ke'air said, a grin splitting his face, arms extended wide.  
  
"Why don't they finish you?" Crais asked.  
  
"The green haven are the best habitat for the Draeg, which is why they don't want them destroyed," he answered. "There are tens of thousands of these places; we occupy a thousand or less now. Yet, the Draeg colonists refuse to come until the Tah are completely eliminated. They know we are here, but they do not know where." He motioned toward the fireplace with his arm. "We do not use artificial power sources that they can track. Because of the natural hot springs and gases in the havens, small fires don't give us away. Our flights are short and low during the daylight hours to avoid detection. We limit our transmissions."  
  
"We are in one of these green havens now?" the Sebacean asked.  
  
Brother and sister both nodded. "Their ground forces come out at night," Ke'air continued. "They overrun twenty or more havens every night. Sometimes the Tah escape to the swamps, if not, they are killed. It is only a matter of time. Judging by their present location, we have another two monens, maybe three."  
  
Crais sat up and swung his feet to the floor, scowling as he tugged the heavy bedcover around his waist. Noticing his discomfort, Ke'air jumped up and retrieved a broadcloth sack from across the room. After returning to his position on the floor, he sat and rummaged through the contents until he selected a well-worn pair of loose fitting trousers, which he tossed to Crais.  
  
"Here . . . don't bother being shy. My sister already checked you out."  
  
At this point, modesty was the last thing on his mind. Crais tossed back the cover and stepped into the pants. He glanced around the room for the rest of his clothing. Not seeing them, he turned toward Toma, who was red- faced and angrily mouthing something to her brother.  
  
"I will be returning to my ship now. Please accept my apologies for my earlier actions. I appreciate your and your brother's efforts on my behalf. Now, if you could retrieve my clothing."  
  
Ke'air wagged his head in amusement, looking to Toma. "See? What did I tell you? It's like trying to tell a baby not to dirty its britches. You might as well save your breath."  
  
Toma rolled her eyes, each man assuming it was at the other. She walked to the wall and slid back a door panel to reveal the pitch-black exterior. "It won't be daylight for another three arns, Bialar Crais. My brother is not leaving this hut until morning, and without him you will have difficulty in finding your ship. However, if it is your wish to leave, I will get your clothing."  
  
He lowered himself to a seat on the edge of the bed and stared vacantly into the fire.  
  
# # #  
  
The green haven they called Anjeluh stretched roughly two metra in diameter, with a thick perimeter of evergreen trees surrounding the village of nearly five hundred people. Overhead, slender limbs grew crisscrossed into a symmetrical dome that sheltered the inhabitants from rain and wind, but allowed muted patches of sunlight to filter through. The wood and cloth structures inside varied in size, yet each mimicked the annular domed shape of the haven. Most were constructed of wood, although several of the largest had only wooden frames covered in bright, multi-colored cloth, reminiscent of the festival tents of Amma'noix.  
  
Crais knew Ke'air Masahje was toying with him and enjoying every microt of it. He also knew he would have to play along if he wanted to learn the transport pod's location. Despite the seriousness of the Tah's situation, the atmosphere inside the haven was relaxed, the people curious, friendly. No whispers. No furtive glances. Along the way a group of children fell in step behind them, drawing even more attention to the tall, boisterous Tah and the dark stranger who accompanied him. As they neared the largest dome in the center of Anjeluh, Ke'air swung around, arms widespread and unleashed a ferocious roar. He dropped to his knees, swarmed by laughing, squealing youngsters. Crais had begun to back away when a hand reached out and seized his pant leg.  
  
"Get down here," Ke'air said, motioning with his head. "They want to examine that growth on your face."  
  
"I believe our time would be better spent-"  
  
The next tug on his trousers nearly pulled the Sebacean over. "Your time will be spent searching for that piece of wreckage that you call a ship if you don't get down here."  
  
He knocked Ke'air's hand aside and crouched amid the children. Cautiously, yet purposefully, small hands began to examine the goatee . . . touching, rubbing, and occasionally tugging, amid giggles and whispers. His clenched jaw eventually gave way to an unwilling smile that encouraged them further. He noticed what he thought might be several sets of twins in the young faces that surrounded him.  
  
When every child had taken a turn Ke'air rose and waved his hand to shoo them away. Crais stood, adjusted his jacket and cleared his throat. "I trust with that out of the way, you can now direct me to my ship."  
  
Masahje tweaked his brow and grinned.  
  
A hand-lettered sign identified the largest tent as the Domicile. Inside, dozens of people crowded the length of a u-shaped wooden bar, surrounded by rows of long, narrow tables, most of them empty. Masahje stopped short of the doorway and waved at one of the patrons. A woman at the bar promptly signaled back and headed toward him, followed by a second woman and a boy. All three had their heads shaved identically to Masahje with a single hank of hair hanging long and loose in the back. The two women looked remarkably similar; pale complexions with wavy silver hair and ice-blue eyes. The boy was darker skinned with earthen-colored hair.  
  
The woman greeted Masahje with a full, wet kiss on the lips, coiling one arm around his neck, the other slapping his belly with a loud smack. He curled his muscular arms around her waist and with an exaggerated grunt, lifted her feet off the ground.  
  
"So where were you last night?" she asked, shifting her eyes to Crais. "Were you afraid to leave Toma alone with this one? Or worried for him?"  
  
The boy, who was no more than fourteen or fifteen cycles, stepped forward and chucked Crais on the shoulder. "I saw you crash, my brother. I thought for sure when the power cut out that you'd dip the nose and roll it. Didn't figure there'd be enough left for parts. You must be one hez of a great pilot."  
  
"My name is Bialar Crais," he replied evenly. "And if I was that great of a pilot I never would have been shot down in the first place."  
  
They all laughed, except for Crais, who after taking another solid shot on the arm from the boy was growing noticeably perturbed. Ke'air buried a finger in the boy's chest and gave him a slight shove backward. "This is Nimm, also a great pilot. And this is my favorite bounce, Emone, and her birth partner, Vyett."  
  
"Twins?" asked Crais. Their blank expression prompted him to explain. "A multiple birth by a Sebacean mother is referred to as twins."  
  
Ke'air nodded. "We call that a birth partner, or birth pair, like Toma and me. Every other child born has a partner."  
  
"I am a midborn," Nimm explained with a shrug. "No partner."  
  
Vyett circled Crais with a coquettish grin, pausing to study him from the side, her tongue making a slow, suggestive pass along her full lower lip. "What do you call this, Bialar?" she asked, tracing the line of his goatee with the back of a finger.  
  
Ke'air gripped the waistband of Vyett's trousers and pulled her off him. "Don't go getting your hopes up for a bounce with this one, girl. He's on his way back to his ship and will likely be shot down again before nightfall."  
  
"I hope I do not miss that," Nimm said with complete sincerity.  
  
Emone ran her hand up Ke'air's chest and then trailed in lightly down along his arm. "Will you be back to see me later, then?"  
  
"I shouldn't be long. Bialar Crais here is in a hurry to get himself killed." He fished around in one of his pants pockets and then the other until he pulled out a triangular shaped coin, which he flipped to Nimm. "Here. Why don't you go buy our friend a bottle of slail for a send off. It's the least we can do."  
  
Vyett continued to eye the Sebacean like a hungry Hynerian. "It's a shame you won't decide to stay."  
  
The young man returned from the bar and handed Crais a large glass jug of frothy, blue liquid. "We would help you also," Nimm told him, "but reconnaissance from the Rikkeesee haven spotted a downed frigate within our sector. The front cabin is completely blown away and the fuselage on its side, but it's intact.  
  
Ke'air appeared pleased by the news. "Maybe we get lucky. I wish I was going with you, my comrades."  
  
"Please, do not let me-"  
  
"But I've got to get our friend here on his way. Are you taking the Hawk?"  
  
Emone nodded. "We make only one trip that way, in case the Draeg got it wired. If there's ammo, we grab it and go."  
  
Crais accompanied them through the village toward an odd assortment of ships concealed along the haven's edge, most of which looked as though they had seen better days. By the gun mounts, he counted three military vessels; the remaining were civilian transports, ranging from single occupant to commercial capacity. The ship referred to as the Hawk was the largest of the military vessels, slightly smaller than a marauder with a three or four crew capacity. The two they referred to as Astras were similar to a Prowler in size and likely single pilot fighters. Crais gathered from their conversation that they had little ammunition and scavenged what they could from derelict craft that had been damaged and deserted in the Dragen's initial attack.  
  
Leaving Emone, Vyett and Nimm behind at the Hawk, Ke'air proceeded to one of the several surface craft, choosing a small, flat-bottomed, open-air two- seater called an aquaflyer. Together, he and Crais pulled aside a false panel of brush and dragged the aquaflyer outside the haven and into the shallow surrounding water.  
  
Masahje handed Crais a pair of goggles and donned a pair himself before he cracked the throttle open. The nose of the flyer shot up at a forty-five degree angle until the craft picked up speed and leveled out, skimming atop the water at a speed of 60 to 70 meters per arn. After so many monen of confinement and solitude in the transport, Crais savored the wind and spray across his face. He had forgotten the warmth of a natural sun and how quickly the black landscape of space could turn azure. A half an arn passed before he saw the transport pod ahead in the distance, fortunately still in one piece.  
  
Masahje banked the flyer and slid sideways into a stand of tall grass. He stepped down into the water and pushed the flyer farther into thick, gnarled vegetation. "We'll walk the rest of the way."  
  
Crais stood on the edge of the flyer, staring into the shallow water, hesitant.  
  
"Afraid to get your feet wet? Grab your slail and let's go."  
  
"What about the . . . kree-kree?" Crais asked.  
  
Ke'air threw his head back and unleashed a hearty laugh. Planting both hands against the rear passenger panel of the flyer, he plunged the craft downward in a sudden sharp motion that sent the Sebacean flying off the running board and into the water with a tumultuous splash. Crais slowly made his way to his feet and turned, his arms bowed at his sides, dripping wet, his eyes, black and narrow.  
  
"No such thing as kree-kree, my friend. Just something we tell children to keep them out of . . . "  
  
Crais launched himself and caught the Tah squarely in the stomach with his right shoulder and sent them both reeling into the knee-deep water.  
  
"Are you crazy? What the hez-"  
  
Crais thrust the larger man's head beneath the water and held it there for a microt before he released him. He quickly retrieved his weapon from the flyer and as he backed away, Ke'air Masahje sat up, spitting, coughing and shaking his head. After they exchanged looks to affirm their mutual disgust, confidant that Masahje was not going to retaliate, Crais turned and waded toward the transport. This fool has wasted enough of his time. The moment repairs on the pod were completed he would lift off for Tarn. If the Draegens shot him down again, so be it; it was preferable over waiting with the Tah to die like bezore.  
  
The transport hatch had been left open and the boarding ramp down, giving him further cause to curse Ke'air Masahje. He walked purposefully up the ramp, pulled his pulse pistol and made a sweep of the interior of the pod from the hatchway. Satisfied his ship had not been invaded by anything larger than several horned lizards attached to the hull at varying heights, he holstered the pistol and turned his attention to the damaged conduit.  
  
He would be forced to repair and test the fuel line without bringing the power back online. If the Draegen's tracking systems were as sophisticated as Masahje indicated, and he believed they were, he could not risk revealing his position prior to take off. He would have one shot, and one shot only, at getting off this planet, a daunting task made more so without weapons, a defense shield, or reconnaissance.  
  
In order to repair the main cesium feed, he would have to scavenge the auxiliary line. He could not risk bypassing the damaged link, or replacing it with other than the exact same part. At times like this, he sorely missed the assistance Talyn provided when diagnosing and effecting repairs.  
  
"Yes . . . you and I would have made short work of these Draegen," Crais muttered from beneath the access panel.  
  
"Who you talking to?"  
  
Crais sprang to his feet at the sound of Ke'air Masahje's voice from the hatchway, pulse rifle slung over his shoulder, the bottle of slail in his hand. The Sebacean pointed an adamant finger out the hatch aimed toward the aqua flyer. "You are *not* welcome here. Now leave immediately."  
  
Masahje dismissed Crais with a wave of his hand and walked past him to the flight control panel. He banged the bottle down and then eased into the pilot's seat with a contented groan. "Toma will have my hide if I don't help you."  
  
"You may want to consider what *I* might do if you stay."  
  
The other man shrugged. He swiveled round in the seat to face him and leaned back. "I don't know. Judging by what you showed me outside, I think I'm better off fighting against you than my sister."  
  
The easiest solution would have been to shoot him. The idea had crossed his mind. Captain Bialar Crais, Peacekeeper, would have done so without a second thought, and that was perhaps what stopped him. He decided a change of tactics was called for. "There is nothing you can do in here. If you wish to be of assistance, you can stand guard outside and alert me if any Draegens approach."  
  
Masahje squinted and puckered his lips, thinking. "Nah . . . by the time I see them, they see us, and by then we're already dead men. I can be of more help to you inside."  
  
After a silence, Crais cleared his throat and with a quaint dip of his head stated evenly, "Yes, of course you can. However, the space in which I must affect the repairs is quite limited. I think it best that you remain seated here until I summon you for assistance."  
  
Masahje cocked his thumb and aimed his index finger at Crais with a smirk. "You got it, my brother."  
  
They exchanged smug, tight-lipped grins, both of which vanished the instant Crais turned his back and started toward the rear treblin access panel. He knelt and massaged his chin, studying the line he had clamped and started to remove following the crash. Although the crushed section measured only a few denches, to replace the line without seams meant removing the entire auxiliary line intact. There was always risk when dealing with cesium and patches, yet replacing the section from junction to junction would take time, possibly days instead of arns. He felt certain a patch would hold until he reached Tarn.  
  
"You're not thinking to just scab a piece in there, are you?" Ke'air Masahje's chin jutted over Crais' right shoulder as the taller man crouched peering intently into the access panel. "Boy oh boy, the first time you give it the juice and that seam blows you'll be wishing you done it right. Draeg won't have to bother blasting your eema out of the sky. You'll go off like a boy on his first date with a trelk."  
  
He closed his eyes for a microt and when he turned to reply, Masahje had wandered to the rear of the transport, where he was crouched to inspect the cesium pressure panel. "How much would you have to replace to avoid the seam?"  
  
"From the hatch to where you're standing," Crais replied gruffly, "but that would entail a great deal more time."  
  
"No problem. I'll help you."  
  
That was exactly what he was afraid of.  
  
# # #  
  
With a second pair of hands at his disposal, Crais was able to thread the conduit through a narrow gap in the bulkhead, requiring that he make only a small breach in both the transport's underbelly and treblin side. It took longer than the patch, but now there was no question, it would not rupture.  
  
Throughout the day, Masahje shared his knowledge of Draegen battle tactics, along with several hundred other subjects. It felt almost like having Talyn inside his head again, a constant, disjointed, forced sharing of information. As he had learned to do with the young Leviathan, Crais focused on the job at hand, allowing the Tah's words to drone on in the background, heard but not truly discerned.  
  
The final task of reconnecting and recalibrating the cesium feed took them longer than expected. After what seemed like arns, Masahje stood and stretched while Crais tightened the last fitting. The Tah retrieved his jacket from the pilot console and strapped on his pulse pistol. The microt the hatch popped open he fell silent, staring outside.  
  
"What's the matter," Crais grumbled as he got to his feet and straightened his clothing. "Finally run out of meaningless things to talk about?"  
  
"Frell me dead!" he cursed under his breath.  
  
Crais rushed to the hatchway, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Ke'air Masahje, who had still not drawn his weapon, began to shout obscenities and hold his head in his hands, unusual behavior even for him. "Toma will have my mivonks for this." He pushed Crais back out of the way and slammed the hatch shut. "I should have watched the time more closely. This is my fault."  
  
"If there is anything wrong, it is most certainly your fault. Now get out of my way and open that hatch."  
  
Masahje stuck a hand in Crais' chest, his expression determined. "It is too close to dusk, Draeg might get a lock on the aquaflyer. It looks like we *both* get to spend the night here."  
  
"Nonsense, it is still daylight." Crais strode to the view screen, peered outside and spun back, finger pointed at the large orange globe still visible above the horizon. "If you leave immediately you will be home well before dark."  
  
"But not before dusk. That's when they come out . . . swarms of Draeg fighters. We call them Firebugs. If they detect motion and get a read on that aquaflyer and where it goes, every man, woman and child in Anjeluh will be dead before morning. I can't even risk a comm to let Toma know that I'm okay, not stationary like this."  
  
# # #  
  
An arn later the two men sat, sullen faced, on opposite sides of the faint, yellow aura of a single emergency lamp set to its lowest setting. Masahje muttered occasionally about the fact that his sister would be worried, while Crais brooded in silence. He knew he could not take off until morning, yet still did not appreciate having to further tolerate the other man's company.  
  
"You want something to eat?" he finally asked.  
  
"Well of course I do. Took you a long time to ask."  
  
Crais disappeared into the small storage bay and returned with a handful of food cubes, several of which he offered to Masahje who, after accepting them, held one between his thumb and index finger, examining it with a frown. He looked at Crais and then back to the cube, his forehead lined. "*This* is what you offer me to eat?"  
  
"Protein cubes. They can be stored for cycles and are completely nutritious."  
  
He dropped the cube into the palm of his other hand and brought it up under his nose, with a loud sniff.  
  
"They are to be eaten, not inhaled," Crais said cheekily.  
  
"Is that so?" he replied with equal sarcasm. "I though maybe you expected me to use it to start a fire." He dropped the cube onto the deck with the others. "You got nothing else to offer me?"  
  
"That is what I have existed on for the past five monen. If you don't like it-."  
  
He reached for the cubes, but Masahje quickly retrieved them and bit one in half, chewing it endlessly. "These are very dry," he mumbled, not swallowing.  
  
Exhaling briskly, Crais went to draw two cups of water. Prior to turning the spigot he caught sight of the flagon of slail still sitting on the control panel. Thinking that it might appease Masahje, he opted for the Tah's native beverage. He filled both cups, replaced the cork and sat back down, offering one cup of slail to Masahje, who after a moment of indecision, refused, shaking his head.  
  
"What? This isn't good enough for you either? Crais raised his cup and sipped the blue liquid, which he found to be quite pleasant, a hint of sweetness and slightly pulpy with a warm, mellow aftertaste. He drank deeply the second time, offering a deep, hummed approval.  
  
Masahje sat staring at his hands in his lap, chewing absently on his bottom lip. He glanced up a couple of times, half opened his mouth to speak, only to hang his head in silence at the last moment. This went on for some time, until he finally wiped his forehead on his sleeve and shrugged. "I am not allowed the pleasure of your company."  
  
"If only that were true," Crais grunted.  
  
"When I was a young man I used to spend much time in the Dom . . . the Domicile. I liked to drink, talk, have good time with my friends."  
  
Crais drained his cup and clanked it on the deck. "Yes, well, that is hard to imagine."  
  
"There was this one fellow, big mouth, always bragging himself up. It's no secret we don't like each other. First it was just talk, then one night we're both drinking heavy and he starts talking me down, loud so I can hear." He wet his lips and shifted on the floor, eyes reflecting the lamp. "I call him on it and the stupid fapoota gets in my face, but I don't back down."  
  
Crais reached back for the slail, filled his cup and then set the jug down beside him.  
  
"The server tells us to take our disagreement outside, so we do. Everybody follows us out to watch. We beat the hezmana out of each other, til neither one of us can barely stand up." He stared at Crais for a microt, nodding. "Then I killed him."  
  
The Sebacean's posture straightened a bit, his interest finally captured.  
  
"They took into account that we were young and had both been drinking when it happened, so the citizens' council gives me a light sentence."  
  
"You shot him?" Crais asked.  
  
Masahje bristled at the question. "No, I didn't shoot him. I hit him with my fist, but too hard. An accident. For my punishment, I'm not ever allowed in the Dom, and I can't share a drink with any other person. I'm a constituent, yet during the meetings and elections I must stand outside to speak and vote."  
  
Crais chuckled, softly at first, and then louder. "Your *crime* consisted of hitting another man in a fistfight? Here . . . " he shoved the cup closer to the other man, sloshing some of its contents onto the deck, "drink it. I am a Sebacean. Your law does not apply to me or to my ship. No matter, I will be gone tomorrow."  
  
In the time it took for Crais to drink his second cup of slail, the battle played across the other man's face until the war within him ended. He wet his lips and lifted the cup, at first savoring a small sip. With the term of his sentence temporarily commuted, he drained the remainder in one large, easy swallow and then slapped the cup down alongside Crais' empty. Not normally a heavy drinker, Crais could already feel the alcohol warming him, weighting his arms and legs with welcome relaxation. He poured two more drinks and handed one to Masahje.  
  
His cup raised, Masahje stopped and looked curiously over it at Crais. "So, now you know all about me. Tell me, what is it that makes you run so far?"  
  
"I don't recall saying that I was running from anything," Crais replied with a glint in his eye.  
  
Masahje nodded and wisely let it go. "What do you think of my sister? She's a good looking woman, yes?"  
  
"She is . . . adequate."  
  
"Adequate? I would like to see what *your* bounce looks like. That's probably your girlfriend right there at the end of your arm." He snorted the word a second time, "Adequate."  
  
Crais ignored him, not fully comprehending the conversation, and finished his drink. The Tah quickly downed his and without hesitation, poured another round. He raised his cup to propose a toast and waited for the Sebacean to do the same, which he did, halfheartedly.  
  
"May the Draeg be looking the wrong way tomorrow." He clinked their cups together and then tossed the drink back in one swift gulp.  
  
Crais followed suit. The temperature inside the transport had become uncomfortably warm. He unbuttoned his jacket and removed it, next loosening the collar of his shirt. After refilling the cups, he ate several food cubes, wishing for once he had something other than the tasteless, dehydrated wafers. The weight of the long day began to tug at his eyelids. He imagined he would sleep well, despite his boisterous guest.  
  
It was the last thing he remembered. 


	4. Chapter 3

Moon Shadows Chapter 3  
  
Bialar Crais was no stranger to pain. The aurora chair. Cybernetic bleedback. He had been stabbed, shot and beaten more times than he could remember. Yet, he would never forget the pain in his head that morning.  
  
He avoided the light, rolled onto his side and curled into a ball with the quilt pulled across his face. It was the same quilt whose sweet, subtle scent he had enjoyed the previous morning. How he came to be under it again was a mystery. Footsteps sounded close by, followed by voices that grew steadily, painfully louder. A hand gripped his shoulder and gave it a shake. He groaned and clutched the blanket as someone tried to pull it away.  
  
"We got to get going. Come on, Bialar, get up." The voice belonged to Ke'air Masahje.  
  
Crais sat up suddenly, breathing deeply though his mouth. He felt unwell. His mouth began to water and he felt a slight tremble. Masahje stood alongside the bed, hands on his hips, staring down at him.  
  
"Your color is not good, my brother," he noted. "Are you ailing?"  
  
"Have you no sense at all?" Toma asked angrily. "You know that it is not allowed. What if you were seen?"  
  
"I say the same thing as yesterday. He got himself knocked out." Ke'air shrugged. "It was first light. No one saw nothing."  
  
She pushed her brother out of the way and slapped a metal pan down in front of Crais, who was sitting upright with his eyes closed. She pulled his hair back and held it with one hand behind his head. "Might as well get this over with," she grumbled, waving an emetic capsule beneath his nose with her other hand. The results were spontaneous. Before he could catch his breath, she shoved the emetic in his face again and again, until it finally had no effect. Toma quickly took the pan outside, while Crais flopped back onto the bed.  
  
"We better get going," Masahje said. "It will take us over two arns to get to the ruins and two more to get back."  
  
Crais' eyes blinked open. He sat partially upright, propped up on his elbows. "You will return me to my ship immediately."  
  
"That is not our agreement."  
  
"We *have* no agreement."  
  
"Bialar-"  
  
"My name is Crais," he snapped, wincing from the effort. "Do you understand? Crais!"  
  
"Last night you said I should call you Bialar."  
  
"I most certainly did not."  
  
"Did not what?" Toma asked, returning from outside.  
  
Masahje stood at the end of the bed, frowning, arms folded across his chest. "Bialar does not want to honor our agreement. He wishes to return to his ship."  
  
He knew by the way her eyes and nostrils flared that he was in serious trouble. She moved in a slow, measured gait toward the bed and then glared at him, silent, nodding slightly. He lifted the quilt and glanced beneath it, somehow not surprised to see that his clothing had all been removed again. Although his head felt considerably better after he vomited, arguing was the last thing he wanted to do now, especially with these two.  
  
"If you would be so kind as to get my clothing," he asked, voice subdued, purposefully avoiding her gaze.  
  
She stood stock-still. "Ke'air tells me that you are a man of science. And that you offered to accompany him to the ruins to-"  
  
"Your brother is mistaken. I did no such thing. "  
  
"Then you do not know science?"  
  
He sighed, uncertain of how to answer. "I have some experience in the field of genetics and cross proliferation, however I am not primarily a scientist. I doubt I would be of any assistance to you."  
  
"Did you offer last night to help?"  
  
Again, a deep breath prefaced his reply. "I would not have made that promise."  
  
Toma bent down, her face close to his. "You don't remember, do you?"  
  
"It is true, I am vague on some of what-"  
  
"So, you *don't* remember."  
  
"I remember everything," Ke'air chimed in. "You said even if the laboratory was destroyed, the vid chips with the information might still be intact, and maybe the data scanner from your ship could read that information." He went to the counter and returned with the transport's portable scanner, which he held out to Crais.  
  
"Is he making this up too?" Toma asked.  
  
"If we leave now you will be back to your ship before dusk. You can take off first thing in the morning."  
  
Crais shook his head unhappily. "I suppose you will refuse to return me to my ship if I do not agree to this."  
  
Toma took a seat on the bed and with her hand turned his chin toward her, holding it there. Her voice was controlled, precise, yet barely above a whisper. "Ke'air will take you to your ship, Bialar Crais, if that is what you choose to do. The lives of several hundred thousand Tah are not your concern. We were destined to die before you came. Perhaps you can manage to save yourself." She released his chin indelicately, stood and walked toward the door. "I'll get your clothing."  
  
He sank back into the pillow, closing his eyes for a microt. When he opened them, Ke'air Masahje was still looking at him, his expression questioning. "Very well, I will accompany you to these ruins, but you will tell me one thing in return. Did I really say that I would or did you make it up?"  
  
Ke'air cocked his head and rolled his eyes in thought, a thin smile resulting. "You said plenty last night, Bialar. I'm pretty certain that you did."  
  
"Here are your things. Now get out of my bed." Toma threw his clothing at him and turned to Ke'air, "You take him back to his ship and this time you *leave* him there."  
  
"But Toma, he has changed his mind. We are going to the ruins just as I told you."  
  
She glanced at Crais, still irritated and then turned to face her brother. "Are you certain it will be safe? What if the Draeg are watching that building? Maybe it is a trap. Maybe you should not go. This way we still have a little time left together."  
  
He rested his hands on her shoulders, his eyes alone conveying the message.  
  
She nodded. "I'll make something for you to take and eat later." She was halfway to the kitchen counter when she turned back to the men, her voice suddenly cheerful and unnecessarily loud. "Unless you are hungry now, Bialar Crais. I would be glad to make you a nice big breakfast. You like some eggs, maybe?"  
  
He dressed slowly and without response.  
  
# # #  
  
The sun slipped past the colorless morning clouds to burn hot and bright overhead. Although he would have preferred to sleep it off, the fresh air helped to clear his head. The drone of the aquaflyer prohibited conversation, which was just fine with him; Crais had no doubt that he had already done far too much talking. Cinched securely in the safety harness, head back, eyes closed, the whir of the prop lulled him to the edge of wakefulness, a painless, welcome place.  
  
He was unaware of the passage of time or distance until a hand swatted his chest. Ke'air pointed to a dark, jagged mass on the horizon, clearly not a haven. As they drew near, he could only imagine what the city of Shuleye- Shulah must have looked like prior to the attack. Even in almost total collapse, its massive stone pillars still supported the riddled remains of floors and walls that stretched some twenty stories above the ground. The stark, skeletal lines of scorched concrete and metal in tedious shades of gray cut a sharp contrast against the crisp, blue sky. They were still a metra from the building when piles of debris prevented them from approaching closer with the flyer. Masahje cut the engine and coasted inside the hollow, burnt out wreckage of a civilian transport train.  
  
"We have to go the rest of the way by foot. Research was always done on the upper floors, so we've got to climb. Some of the stairs are still there, but many are gone." He pulled a heavy rope with gaff hooks from beneath his seat, which drew a scowl from Crais. "Don't think I'm pulling you up either. There's another under your seat."  
  
Crais was uncertain which was worse, climbing across the wreckage, most of it rusted and unstable, or Ke'air's constant explanation of the obvious. Thankfully, despite his ongoing dissertation, not one word of the previous night's conversation, the *missing* part, had came up. He was curious to know what he might have revealed, yet not enough to ask. He assumed he had not divulged too much of his past, since the Tah was still speaking to him, in fact, more than he would have preferred.  
  
Although the transport scanner could pick up information signatures from a distance of ten microns, the chips still had to be located in the rubbish and inserted into the reader. Crais doubted much had survived the devastation. On the lower floors a few vids with fragmented information remained; store inventories, receipts, supply orders, personnel records . . . nothing of value.  
  
It had taken them three arns to cover the first six floors. After digging for another half arn to unearth a chip that produced theatre schedules, Crais slumped to a seat on the floor, his elbows rested on bent knees. Ke'air, who had finally stopped talking, continued to sort through rubble, looking over a few times before closing the distance between them. He settled onto the floor across from Crais and slid off his pack.  
  
"We've got five more arns, before we have to start back." His expression seemed weighted as he removed a bundle from the pack and unwrapped it. "Brown bread stuffed with cheese," he said, offering one of the loaves across.  
  
Crais glanced up and waved it off.  
  
"Come on, take it. This will make you feel better," he insisted, offering the bread again. "Been drunk on that stuff enough times myself to know. Besides, this is real food, not that stock fodder you fed me."  
  
Aware that the rumbling in his stomach might have more to do with hunger than the slail, Crais accepted the bread. He broke off a corner and chewed it slowly, nodding in response to his companion's questioning look. "We will never find whatever it is that you're looking for," he said matter-of- factly. "More than half the building's upper tiers are completely gone. How do you know this project wasn't on one of those?"  
  
"Everything past the fifteenth level was living quarters," he explained. "The first five levels were marketplace . . . shops, entertainment. Everything else was in the middle: research facilities, places of high learning, factories . . . hospitals. It is possible they were all working together on the plan."  
  
"It is also possible they had no *plan* at all," Crais said, enjoying a larger bite of bread.  
  
"This information was passed to us by soldiers who were stationed outside Shuleye-Shulah when the attack came. There *was* a plan, but it had to be very secretive because they did not want to provoke the Draegen."  
  
"Well, that part certainly did not work."  
  
Ke'air stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth, stood and offered his hand to Crais. "As a soldier I must do whatever I can to defeat them."  
  
"You?" Crais asked, being pulled to his feet. "A soldier?"  
  
"Of course I am. What do you think this is for?" He ran a hand back across his sleek head, lifted his ponytail and let the long, black hair slide across his fingers.  
  
Crais' expression confirmed he had no clue.  
  
"We do not have money or time for uniforms. This is how we are identified." He grinned big and winked. "It was my idea."  
  
Crais grinned also, for an entirely different reason. "So cutting your hair in this manner is all it takes to become a soldier? Like the boy, Nimm?"  
  
"Nimm's papa, Jjorn was the best frelling pilot I ever seen. Taught him how to fly when he was probably seven or eight cycles. That *boy* can patch a ship together with nothing more than some spit n' a ball of string, and fly it better than anybody." Ke'air shouldered his pack and stared out a gaping hole in the side of the building for a microt. "He's going to die here with the rest of us whether he hides behind his mama's skirt or gets flamed by a Draeg Firebug. Does it matter which?"  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
Ke'air climbed atop the remains of what was once a refrigeration unit and surveyed the exposed beams for a place to toss the gaff. The hook held fast on his second throw. He secured the rope and then motioned Crais over, arm extended. "Give me your rope. I'll go up a couple of stories and see if there's anything recognizable. You finish this floor and then start on the next. Comm me if you find something."  
  
Crais pitched the rope up and nodded. It made sense to split up, although he doubted it would make a difference. Even if they found something, what difference would it make? Any hope for the Tah disappeared three cycles ago with the stilted cities. Their political leaders, scientists, educators, along with 70 percent of the population died within the first six monens. Only the residents of the green havens still survived: farmers, fishermen, the uneducated and the elderly, plus bits and pieces of a shattered military.  
  
He checked the remainder of the floor and then climbed the rope to the next tier. So far he had the transport scanner set to locate data chips. It occurred to him that higher security areas might have a higher concentration of hydrohonium and other protective metals than unclassified areas, so he changed the setting and made another sweep. The scan detected a significant concentration of hydrohonium particles in the northeast corner of the building.  
  
An unfamiliar power reading blinked sporadically. He tuned in the signature and advanced toward it until the flashing became a steady stream of light. The source was quite unusual. He kept walking and tracking the power frequency until he rounded a corner and came face to face with the source. Incredible as it seemed, some manner of droid had escaped the destruction.  
  
Its gray metallic surface glistened, a narrow black band at the top of its head swiveling to watch him. Larger than a DRD, the waist high automaton's two arms had three lengthy digits and two separate jointed legs versus rollers. It chirped at him, no doubt confused by his Sebacean readings. Crais circled, keeping his distance. The droid turned with him and stopped when he did. Curious . . . the scanner identified it as a life form.  
  
Crais stopped, his eyes lifting slowly from the scanner. The black band rolled back to reveal two sphere-shaped, amber eyes and mouth rimmed with needle-thin pointed teeth. It hissed. He took a step back, slowly lowering his hand toward his pulse pistol. The creature raised an arm, fingers still dangling downward. Crais saw the red beam target him from a metal cylinder fixed atop its wrist. He dove for cover.  
  
He heard the explosion and rolled to see pieces of the creature flying, a thin spray of milky goo splattered everywhere. Microts later Ke'air Masahje grabbed him by the arm and jerked him to his feet.  
  
"What the frell is the matter with you?"  
  
"I was trying to get a reading on whatever that was," Crais snapped, yanking his arm free.  
  
"A reading? I'll give you a reading. That was a Draeg, you idiot. What were you thinking to do? Introduce yourself?"  
  
"I did not-"  
  
"Hello Mister Draegen! I am Bialar Crais . . . eema."  
  
Crais' cast a dark, cautionary look. He wiped a smattering of Draeg from his face onto his shirtsleeve and, feeling a bit foolish, turned his attention quickly back to the scanner.  
  
"Did you find something?" Ke'air asked, his voice clipped, yet even.  
  
"Hydrohoniun. There are increased levels in this direction. It could indicate protective casings, possibly a vault."  
  
The Tah nodded and motioned him to lead the way. "We will stay together from now on."  
  
"That is not necessary."  
  
"We will stay together," Ke'air repeated.  
  
The scraps of metal that the scanner led them to bore little resemblance to laboratory equipment, yet Crais continued to adjust the settings, intent on one section of about fifty square microns. Sensing the Sebacean's interest, Ke'air began to pitch chunks of concrete out of the way. Once Crais narrowed the search, he too began to dig. They tossed desks, tables and countertops, all fused in the explosion, out over the edge of the building.  
  
"That's enough," Crais cautioned. He knelt to study a thin strip of synthetic laminate front and back before discarding it. Smoothing the remaining fragments with his hand, he picked out and scrutinized several wires and pieces from a melted circuit board.  
  
"Did you find something?" Ke'air asked.  
  
Crais knew he had, yet purposely ignored the question and continued to sift through the pile looking for the data stores that the readings said should also be there. Knowing it was useless to ask a second time, Ke'air also continued to search, glancing frequently at Crais for reaction. Satisfied he had made his point, the Sebacean relented.  
  
"This looks like what's left of a stochastic decentralizer, and not a small one either. A unit of this power and speed would be used for running hypothetical results, and would be sophisticated enough to calculate any margin of error and compensate. Very impressive."  
  
"So what exactly does that mean?"  
  
"Science," Crais replied curtly. "This was once a laboratory. And judging by the sophistication of the equipment, a very well supplied one."  
  
"The plan?"  
  
"No, not yet."  
  
It took another half an arn to locate the data stores. Of a single tray containing eight chips, three still had uncorrupted data which Crais immediately connected to *the plan* Masahje kept referring to. The analytics panel aboard the transport pod could decipher and display the information on the chips in a fraction of the time it would take Crais with the portable scanner. With less than two arns left to unlock the answer, they left Shuleye-Shulah and headed for the ship.  
  
# # #  
  
As the pieces fell together, Crais found himself admiring those who had devised Dark Blossom, the project's code name. It would have worked, given time. And though not a soldier by his definition of the word, he gave Ke'air Masahje credit for trying. The Tah were beaten, yet even in defeat the young man clung to a single shred of hope.the plan. Crais knew he now had the unenviable task of destroying that hope.  
  
"I have it," he said simply, and put the results on visual.  
  
Masahje was unexpectedly quiet.  
  
"The plan was called Dark Blossom. It was quite ingenious, actually. A viral strain, lethal to both Tah and Draegen was to be released into the atmosphere through a common microsporangium. Pollen. In a fairly short period of time, the planet's entire atmosphere would become contaminated.  
  
"Kill our people?" Ke'air blurted.  
  
Crais shook his head. "A vaccine, one which would require several monen to become effective had been developed to administer to the Tah. Once the pollens were released this whole planet would have become poisonous to the Draegen. It probably would have prevented any further aggression on their part for at least another fifty cycles. By that time the Tah would have likely developed complete immunity to the initial strain and if need be, created another."  
  
"Then the plan will still work."  
  
He hesitated and then met Ke'air's gaze directly. "No, the germination process takes place over three growing seasons. The treated bulbs were to be sown now, in the planting season. After lying dormant for the next four monens the virus is activated and released in the spores as pollen during the harvest season. Because the bacteria actually mutates and becomes virulent during this final period, the virus remains undetectable during all but the late blooming stage. The vaccine would have to be administered three to four monen prior to the virus becoming airborne." He gave a light shrug. "It was believed the Draegen would continue to negotiate for at least a cycle before launching any kind of attack. As you said, they want the planet undamaged."  
  
The realization flickered in the young man's eyes. "But we do not have six monens."  
  
"Unfortunately . . . no."  
  
Ke'air gave a slow solemn nod, staring absently at the display screen. "But we could still kill them after we are gone."  
  
Crais' brow arched as he considered the possibility. "Yes, I imagine that is a consideration. If you could treat and sow enough bulbs before the dormant period, in another six or seven monen the Draegen on this planet would be dropping like . . . well, arthropods. If any of your people could manage to survive-"  
  
"They would need this vaccine?"  
  
"Yes." Crais displayed the formula on visual. "The vaccine was completed and tested extensively through the stochastic decentralizer with results of over ninety-nine percent effectiveness. Without the time for clinical testing, I believe they were willing to take the risk." He wrapped a stack of data chips and shrink slides inside a sheet of vellum and handed it to Ke'air. "I have replicated the stores and reproduced the data on slide. Both the virus and vaccine can be manufactured within a weeken. The elements are reasonably common or easily created. A technician should be able to complete the process for you."  
  
Ke'air stared at length at the package of discs in his hand and then at Crais. "A technician?"  
  
"Yes, the research on Dark Blossom had been completed. With those stores and slides, a technician should be able to create the virus, as well as the vaccine, if you choose."  
  
"Could you make this?" he asked, watching him closely.  
  
"I could, but I will not. That was not our agreement."  
  
"We are not technicians."  
  
"But members of your military, those who escaped to the havens, are. You have communication with all the inhabited areas, plus ships to transport your people and materials. If you wish to implement this plan, I suggest you begin immediately." Crais popped the hatch and stepped out onto the ramp.  
  
Ke'air followed him out and offered his hand, which Crais accepted. "Wait for a cluster of moon shadows to pass overhead. Position yourself to takeoff and accelerate directly toward them, not at an angle. If you make it that far, tuck in and use them as a shield."  
  
"Moon shadows?"  
  
"Lunar debris. There is a great deal of it in orbit between Tah and Draegen."  
  
"Of course . . . the asteroid belt." Crais nodded and turned to enter the shuttle.  
  
"If you survive, Bialar Crais, I hope you find what you're looking for," Ke'air called after him.  
  
He hesitated and then stepped inside.  
  
# # #  
  
The lack of sleep weighted his eyes. He thought the aftereffects of the slail and the effort spent sorting through rubble at Shuleye-Shulah might afford him a good night's rest. Instead of passing quickly, the arns had lingered.  
  
Death.  
  
He knew it waited for him again today somewhere above the blue-gray morning sky, and like the people of Tah, he had resigned himself to it. It was unconscionable to fear what a mere child had flown headlong into at his command. Still, this time it felt strange to him. There was no hatred, no cause . . . no revenge. He was to die at the hands of an enemy who would dispatch him with complete indifference. It seemed odd that death should be so lacking in passion.  
  
Following the course he laid in arns earlier, the transport powered up and glided swiftly above the surface the short distance to the coordinates. Choices. At times he wondered if he had any part in them at all.  
  
He eased back on the control lever as the transport slowed and sank down into the water. Although it was inevitable, dying was not urgent. It could wait another day or two. He waited while the residents of Anjeluh drew back the camouflage panels and then slowly maneuvered the transport inside the haven. 


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
He had argued against moving into accommodations in the haven; however, like every other disagreement he had engaged in with Ke'air Masahje, he lost. The dwelling was small, similar in size to the pod's living space, yet clean and surprisingly well supplied for a community under siege. Its simple furnishings reminded him of his home as a child, mismatched and worn, but comfortable.  
  
He eased down onto the bed and removed his boots. He was past being tired; he was numb. Bunching a pillow beneath his head, he stretched out atop the bedcover with a groan. His eyes had barely closed when a fist began to hammer the door. Although he tried to ignore it, the pounding persisted.  
  
"Open up. We got to talk." A hand rattled the door panel, which he had made a point to latch. "Bialar, open up. It's Ke'air."  
  
"Yes, of course it is," he grumbled, swinging his feet onto the floor.  
  
"Would you hurry and open this door," his sister demanded.  
  
He stayed seated on the edge of the bed for a moment, elbows on knees, head bowed, wishing he was back aboard the transport. With deliberate pause, he made his way to the door and flicked the latch. In addition to Ke'air and Toma Masahje, the twins Emone and Vyett, plus the boy Nimm spilled inside the doorway. Vyett and Nimm both carried boxes filled with an odd assortment of circuitry, coils and crystals, which they dumped onto the galley table.  
  
"I have good news for you, Bialar," Ke'air reported.  
  
"What would that be? You and your friends can't stay?"  
  
Ke'air forced a single snorted laugh. "We called an assembly. Tonight at one arn past sunset the residents of Anjeluh will all gather in the Dom to listen to your talk."  
  
"What talk?"  
  
Nimm clapped Crais on the back. "About how we're gonna kill all the Draeg."  
  
"What have you told these people?" he asked incredulously.  
  
"The plan," Ke'air replied. "You said it would work."  
  
"And did you also tell them it was too late to save themselves?"  
  
"Oh you betcha," Nimm stated matter-of-factly. "They're gonna get us first, that's for sure. But won't those little swivel heads be surprised come next harvest season." He spread the contents of the two boxes out across the table. "I got lots of parts here from the derelicts. If there's something missing, you just say the word. Yetti, Moni and I will find it for you."  
  
Crais picked up what appeared to be a transport refrigeration gauge and with a bemused shake of his head, dropped it back onto the table. Head tilted, he narrowed his eyes at Masahje in lieu of making any comment.  
  
"We should probably start now to make an agenda for the meeting." Ke'air's voice grew tentative as the Sebacean continued to test him with a steely look. "Everyone will want to know their part in the plan. We should make a list . . . or something."  
  
"By all means," Crais uttered, his words low and measured. "You go make a list, or something, while I get some sleep."  
  
Toma Masahje shoved Ke'air aside to confront Crais. "You go filling my brother's head with all this *plan*, you have the whole haven in an uproar, and you can think only about a nap? What is wrong with you?" She did not seem bothered by his menacing look and leaned closer. "Do you ever think of anyone besides yourself?"  
  
"Madam . . . I have more than upheld my part of our bargain. On the other hand, it is you and this halfwit you call a brother who continue to impose upon my-"  
  
"Is that what you consider helping someone? An imposition?"  
  
"Who you calling a halfwit?" Ke'air bristled. "I'm not the one who tried smooching up to a Draeg."  
  
"He did what?" Emone and Vyett asked in unison.  
  
"I was *scanning* it," Crais said through clenched teeth as he strode to the door and banged the sliding panel back. He stepped aside and gestured them toward the open doorway.  
  
"But we ain't got our orders yet," said Nimm.  
  
"Orders?" Crais chuckled darkly. "You want orders? I'll give you orders." No longer laughing, he aimed his finger outside the door. "Get out and stay out."  
  
Ke'air snagged Toma by the back of her trousers before she reached him. Vyett began to throw parts back inside the boxes while the others just stood there. Nimm, who seemed puzzled, reached over to stop Vyett and then turned to Crais. "Would it be better if we came back later, after you've had your nap?"  
  
With a gust of breath, Crais dropped his arm and stared out the doorway at the citizens of Anjeluh passing by, people who went about their lives as though they still possessed a future. They were as alien to him as the human. Yet, he fully understood the desire to die on one's feet instead of his knees. In that, they were quite the same. He glanced back over his shoulder at Ke'air, who simply raised his brow in question. Shaking his head lightly, a trace smile crossing his lips, he closed the door.  
  
Hands clasped behind his back, he advanced to the middle of the room, feet planted slightly apart. He made a slow visual sweep of their faces.  
  
"You are certain we can maintain contact with the other havens?"  
  
Emone straightened to answer. "Yes . . . over one thousand."  
  
"And you believe they will assist in this plan?"  
  
"Damn right they will," Ke'air spoke up.  
  
Crais' head dipped in a slow calculated nod. "I want a census of how many of your people still remain, especially those with technical, medical or military backgrounds. I want cartographs showing their proximity."  
  
Emone glanced at her sister, who nodded. "Yetti and I will get that information."  
  
"Equipment and transport," Crais called out next as Nimm promptly took one large stride forward. "Some of the technology necessary to create the virus and vaccine maybe available on the larger craft you called a Hawk."  
  
"Nineteen of them left," Nimm reported. "Fifteen are airworthy."  
  
"Anything larger?" Crais asked.  
  
"A couple of troop transports, minimum firepower. One alpha-class carrier. Power core is shot."  
  
"Can it be fixed?"  
  
Nimm shrugged. "Not according to the mech in that haven, but I ain't had a look at it myself yet."  
  
"I will need data on everything that flies and what kind of equipment is aboard. I need to know if there are any remaining facilities with sterile chambers or replication apparatus. Is that clear?"  
  
"My microbes is working good, my brother."  
  
Crais flinched. "My name is-"  
  
"Bialar . . . " Nimm stated with conviction. "I did not forget. Don't you worry, you're gonna get your information." He strode purposefully out the door accompanied by Emone and Vyett.  
  
Crais waited until they were well away before turning to the brother and sister. He folded his arms across his chest, one brow elevated, waiting for an explanation. Ke'air tweaked a grin and rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze purposely avoiding the other man's. "Yes sir, I think we got us a good start here."  
  
Nodding slightly, Crais closed the distance between them, his expression strangely agreeable. When he was close enough to be considered too close, he stopped and returned Ke'air's tight-lipped grin. "I will need a dimensional imager, along with the data stores and shrink slides I gave you. If you don't have a portable unit, remove one from a ship and locate a power cell to operate it. Bring them here, along with the rest of the information I have requested in about five arns. I should be finished with my *nap* by then."  
  
Ke'air worked the process out in his head, his face contorting through several distinct stages of thought. "That should work," he finally agreed. "It'll give us three arns to prepare here before the meeting, plus have our evening meal. I'll tell the others to meet here with what they've gathered. Is there anything else you need to know?"  
  
Crais gave the pretense of thought for several microts before responding. "Yes. Why are you still here?"  
  
At the doorway, Toma turned back and announced, "I will assist my brother."  
  
"Cholak help him," Crais muttered, shutting the door behind them.  
  
# # #  
  
Crais sat between Toma and Nimm facing the curved bar inside the Domicile tent, oblivious to the elder constituents' speeches taking place in front of him. Every chair in the tent was filled and the perimeter lined with people standing. The only citizen not inside was Ke'air Masahje, whose sentence relegated him to remain just outside the doorway.  
  
For the time and resources available to them, Emone, Vyett and Nimm had pieced together enough information for Crais to know he had precious little to work with. Of just under a half a million remaining Tah, there were perhaps only fifty with the kind of technical skills needed to create and mass manufacture the virus and the vaccine. Only six hundred members of the original military survived, the rest being volunteers like Masahje and his friends.  
  
Still, it could work.  
  
He would have liked more time, but time was a luxury that no one on the planet Tah had to spare. Ke'air Masahje did not know it yet, but he had unwittingly forced his hand.  
  
As the speeches wound down, Toma touched his arm and stood. Crais came to his feet and turned to face the crowd. Once the din subsided, Toma called out his introduction in a loud, clear voice. "Bialar Crais, Sebacean, asks to address this assembly. Is there dissent?"  
  
Immediately one man stood, older, heavyset, graying at the temples. Crais knew trouble when he saw it.  
  
Press Dausho, " he said boldly, warily eyeing Crais. "Bialar Crais, Sebacean? Don't you mean Bialar Crais, Peacekeeper?"  
  
"I am not a Peacekeeper," Crais replied, his words clipped and even.  
  
His interrogator laughed and looked around, smiling broadly into the crowd. "Do you hear that? They never are." He focused back on Crais. "But you were, my friend, weren't you?"  
  
Without hesitation, Crais replied. "Yes."  
  
"You got the look of it," Dausho said. "All stiff backed and looking down your nose at the rest of us. Don't we got troubles enough without your kind?"  
  
"I am here at the request of one of your fellow citizens."  
  
"That's right, we ask him," Nimm shouted without recognition or the proper introduction.  
  
A woman in the far back stood. "Neva Yaw . . . I say, let him talk. Talking never hurt nobody. If it did, ol' Press would a killed us all by now."  
  
The room erupted in laughter. Even Press Dausho seemed amused. "Then say your piece, and be done with it."  
  
Toma nodded at Crais to begin. He walked to the bar and slipped a vid chip into the imager. The resulting hologram pictured a callah, a common plant that flourished in the swamps planet wide.  
  
"Three cycles ago, the ruling body of this planet, believing that Draegen aggression was inevitable, created a plan which they called Dark Blossom. This joint venture between the military and medical communities had been completed and was in the testing stages when the Draegen offensive occurred. Unfortunately, the men and woman who created Dark Blossom died in the initial attack. However . . . these survived." He held the vid chips up, displaying them in a slow circle for everyone in the tent to see. "The plan survived them."  
  
Every eye in the tent was wide open and fixed on Crais. "Through a process called viral pollination, they intended to poison the atmosphere of Tah, making a Draegen occupation virtually impossible. Rhizomes injected with the virus during planting season, after lying dormant would release a mutant pollen, one so toxic that once infected, a Draegen would likely die within a weeken."  
  
As an undertone rippled through the crowd, he raised his voice. "A vaccine to protect the citizens had also been developed."  
  
A soldier, narrow faced with close-set eyes, stood and was recognized. "Mondo Vess. So why don't we just release this virus and kill the buggers?"  
  
Crais nodded, having anticipated the question. "This virus is not activated until the callah's growth stage just prior to the release of pollen. It cannot be forced or duplicated outside of nature. It was planned this way so that the Draegen would not suspect duplicity on the part of the Tah, and once they did, it would be too late. The end result will not be realized for another six monens."  
  
"Gib Scymansky." Tattered and dirty, the man looked as though he hadn't washed in cycles. Beside him, his obvious birth partner mirrored his appearance. "We only got two, three monens at best, unless you're proposing we try to hide out in the swamps."  
  
"It is unlikely that more than a handful could survive." Crais met Ke'air's gaze, hesitated, and then turned back to the assemblage. "Which is why I propose that you must all *leave* this planet."  
  
Half the people in the crowd sprang to their feet shouting to be recognized. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ke'air flagging his arms to draw his attention. Crais raised both hands, motioning the people back to their seats. "I was granted permission to speak, I ask only that you hear me out. If the Tah, united as a people, can sew the seeds of the Draegens' destruction, then as a people, they can also coordinate one final massive effort to leave. It is likely that some of you will survive. A cycle from now, those Tah could reclaim their homes."  
  
Ke'air paced the outside doorway like a cage animal. Toma pointed at Press Dausho's son, also a soldier. "Tenis Dausho . . . even if we could get away, where would we go?"  
  
"Tarn," Crais replied in a bold and powerful voice. "It is sparsely populated by a people such as you, refugees from oppression. I believe they could be made to understand your plight. In addition to that, your stay would be only temporary."  
  
"So, are they going to come and get us too?" a voice called out.  
  
Crais replaced the vid chip with another that displayed a compilation of the vessels provided by Nimm. "Individually the havens are defenseless. The Draegen will continue to eliminate several more thousand people each and every night until you are all dead, every man, woman and child. Less than half a million of your people still survive. Yet once the virus is in place and the military coordinated, you still have the means to flee this planet."  
  
"They will shoot us down like a flock of trelkez," shouted Press Dausho.  
  
"And if you *stay* they will hunt you down like dogs," Crais snarled back. He paced, his hands measuring each word in front of him. "One massive launch . . . one launch made simultaneously by all the remaining ships. You will have the element of surprise. By my calculations, the Draegen are a predictable enemy, constricted by their penchant for night attack and their reliance on unmanned surveillance. It is sheer numbers that makes them formidable."  
  
"Hezmana of a choice," a man standing in the back row called out. "Die here in our homes or die up there."  
  
"Make no mistake, your casualties will be substantial, perhaps as high as eighty to ninety percent. Still, if only ten percent survive, in one cycle, forty thousand of your race can return to start again. If you stay, you will all die."  
  
Anjeluh's Elder constituent Elay Sabad struggled to his feet. A slight elevation of one hand was enough to bring about complete silence inside the tent. At 187 cycles, he was the oldest and most respected resident of the haven. With his head so bent from age that it nearly laid on his shoulder, Elay's eyes turned up to meet Crais' before addressing the constituents. "Once this information is verified, we will meet again to discuss its merit." He shuffled a quarter turn to face the Sebacean, his bottom lip pushed forward in thought. "That's assuming you can prove what you say."  
  
Crais offered a vellum folder to the old man. "These are the names and locations of those who are capable of verifying the information on the chips Ke'air Masahje and I recovered from Shuleye-Shulah. I will also require their assistance."  
  
Elay Sabad motioned Toma to take the folder. She helped the Elder back to his seat and then took Crais by the arm and escorted him to the entrance. Ke'air met him chest to chest, just outside the Domicile. "We got us some talking to do," was all he said. He turned and walked away in the direction of Crais' quarters.  
  
"Stay here," Crais admonished Toma and strode after her brother.  
  
Both men maintained a brisk pace and arrived at his lodging without a word. Ke'air moved to the far side of the room and stood with his back to him. Crais positioned himself in the middle of the hut. "I believe we were going to have a talk."  
  
Ke'air turned with a bit of a smirk. The big man threw the straight right hand just as Crais had anticipated. He ducked to his left and caught him with a solid pantak kick to the chest that sent his opponent flying backward onto the galley table, collapsing it in pieces beneath him. Ke'air scrambled to his feet and launched himself, catching Crais with his shoulder in the midsection. Crais rolled and sprang upright. He backed away, picking up one of the splintered table legs and pointing it threateningly at Ke'air. "Do not tell me you won't leap at a chance to get out of here alive."  
  
Ke'air circled at a distance, both hands curled into fists. "And don't tell me that you're not using my people as a shield for your own escape."  
  
The words stung him. He tossed the club aside. "Is that what you think," he asked, hands at his side, no longer making an effort to defend himself.  
  
His brow puckered in thought, Ke'air's stance relaxed. Hands on hips, he surveyed the damage to the room and then with a heavy sigh and shake of his head, looked to Crais. "You should have told me first."  
  
"It was *you* who scheduled this meeting without consulting me."  
  
His expression acknowledged that fact. "Yes, but I didn't know you was going to pull a brand new plan out of your eema."  
  
"The idea was no more than a passing thought during our meeting earlier today." Crais closed the distance between them. "But that thought sprouted and took shape. Suddenly, an opportunity presented itself. With time being an issue, I felt it in our best interest to act."  
  
"So you think there is a chance?"  
  
"Nimm estimates your present military strength at 112 ships, mostly Astras. If he is correct-"  
  
"If Nimm says it, it is so."  
  
"Your military is forfeit. It will not take the Draegen long to finish them, but I believe it will be sufficient time to allow some of the civilian vessels to escape to Tarn airspace. Whether the Draegen will pursue them there is still unknown."  
  
"Forfeit?" The young man grimaced. "You make it sound like the loss of a game piece in Tadek, instead of flesh and blood. Is that the Peacekeeper way?"  
  
Crais shrugged off the comment. "Sometimes it is the only way."  
  
# # #  
  
It was late and Crais was already preparing for bed when Toma arrived. She was out of breath and hurried to warm herself beside the fire.  
  
"The elders have called a meeting. The havens have all responded."  
  
He pulled on a shirt and sat down at the end of the bed, a pair of socks in hand. "Where's Ke'air?"  
  
"Over at Moni's, getting a bounce. Don't worry, he'll be there." There was a hint of irritation in her voice as she glanced around the room. "Are you alone?"  
  
"She's under the bed," he replied quietly, trying not to smile.  
  
She retrieved his boots from across the room and dropped them in front of him. "It wouldn't be the first bed she's hid under. She's plenty free with it, you know."  
  
"So your brother tells me."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "What else did my brother tell you?"  
  
"That Tah women ask too many questions." Crais stepped into his boots and went to the dresser after a hairbrush. She took the brush from him and motioned him into one of the galley chairs.  
  
"I hear them talking, Bialar. I know what's going to happen."  
  
"Then you obviously know more than I do."  
  
"My brother is not a soldier. He does not belong in one of those ships." She carefully smoothed his hair back as she spoke, using a leather strip to wrap and bind it. "Mondo's the only original crewmember left from the Hawk. Moni and Yetti both flew Astras, plus a few of the others. Nimm learned from his papa.  
  
"It is not my decision to make. If I know your brother, he's going to insist on doing his duty."  
  
"Do you know what his job was before the Draeg attacked and he decided to become a soldier? He flew an airbus between Shuleye-Shulah and the surrounding havens. Day trips."  
  
Crais twisted around to see her face. "An airbus?"  
  
"The only thing he ever shot at in his whole life was vermin in the swamp."  
  
He crossed the room after his coat, pausing to consider the irony of the situation. She had not been afraid to die, but the thought of losing her brother, her only family, terrified her. He understood now. At the doorway he stopped and regarded her with a bemused expression. "A bus driver?"  
  
"A bus driver," she repeated, braving a smile.  
  
They joined the stream of people moving swiftly toward the Dom. Ke'air and Emone were already waiting outside the door when they arrived. As they approached, Ke'air backed away from the entry and chucked his head at Crais to follow. Toma and Emone went inside, leaving the two men to talk.  
  
"The havens have all reported. There was dissent. I don't know how much."  
  
"It's not as though they have an alternative," Crais replied, irritated that it had taken five days for a decision to be reached. "Either way, I still intend to leave. You will have to make your own choice."  
  
He nodded. "You better get in there. It looks like they're ready." Ke'air took up his position outside the doorway. Crais strode to the front row and took his seat between Toma and Nimm. Grett Sabad, oldest midborn child of Elay Sabad, helped her father to the bar.  
  
"Decision's been made," he called out. "We're gonna kill those swivel heads for what they done and then we're leaving." Cheers erupted throughout the tent as the old man raised a gnarled fist in the air, his mouth twisted into a grin. Crais stoically endured a round of backslapping from those around him, much to Toma's amusement. The crowd quickly quieted as Sabad turned his attention to the Sebacean, wagging his fingers at him to approach. "Son, you tell 'em what you and the others been up to."  
  
Crais moved to stand beside the old man, pausing to establish eye contact with Ke'air. "We have continued to plan our escape in anticipation of this favorable response. The following individuals will delegate work assignments. Emone and Vyett will coordinate communications between the havens. Mondo Vess and Tenis Dauscho will procure supplies and arrange transport. Nimm will oversee ships' maintenance." He paced the length of the bar, scanning the crowd for reaction. "Toma Masahje is in charge of infecting the callah rhizomes. Neva Yaw will distribute the vaccine. Ke'air Masahje and I will share responsibility for tactical planning of the launch."  
  
He nodded at Toma, who promptly stepped up beside him at the bar. "We plan to inject a thousand callah surrounding Anjeluh. The other havens will do the same. The plants will have a better survival rate if we leave them in the ground. That means locating the rhizomes beneath the water and injecting them under the water's surface. I figure twenty of us can do them all in a day or two, but it's going to be a wet and dirty job."  
  
The Scymansky brothers stood first, prompting a ripple of laughter. "We'll sure help you, Toma," Gib said with a grin. "But me and Cam are planning to stay and take our chances here in the swamp."  
  
"That's your choice, Gib," Elay Sabat replied. "No one's being forced to do nothing or go nowhere. Those who want to stay got that right. The rest of us will do what we can to help you out."  
  
Press Dauscho came to his feet. "And what if we don't want to take orders from this one or Masahje?"  
  
"Then you're welcome to remain behind," Crais answered promptly, his chin raised defiantly. "Or if you chose, once the ships launch you can break away from the fleet and try to make it on your own." By now he was standing toe to toe with Dauscho. "The only thing you will *not* do is jeopardize the chances of the rest of these people."  
  
"You talk pretty big for an outsider, especially one with the likes of him for a partner." Tenis Dauscho reached for his father's arm, but the older man knocked the son's hand aside. "Or maybe you don't know who it is you're working with."  
  
"That's enough, Press," Sabad warned. "Don't you start disagreeing until you got something to disagree with. We'll make sure the plan's a fair one."  
  
The two men locked eyes, neither willing to let it go. Only when Tenis pulled his father backward into the seat of the chair did Crais retreat a couple of steps, turn and return to the bar.  
  
"How long we got?" someone asked.  
  
"The virus and the vaccine will be produced aboard the alpha-class carrier Orion. Although not flight worthy, the Orion possesses a well-equipped lab. Technicians and the required raw materials are currently en route there. The finished bacterial strain and vaccine should be ready to distribute to the havens in four solar days. Once the rhizomes have been infected and any vessels deployed to accommodate transporting all those who wish to go, we'll be ready." Crais paused and cast a stern eye across the crowd. "Barring any delays, I anticipate launch in seven, possibly eight days."  
  
Hundreds of people shouted at once, the very reaction Crais had expected.  
  
"Forty eight havens have disappeared in the last five days," his voice roared over the commotion. "Nearly twenty thousand more people are dead or unaccounted for."  
  
"Let him finish," Elay Sabad called out.  
  
"The noose is tightening. Havens will continue to disappear at an accelerated rate as the circle closes. We can anticipate their route and transport some people to safety, but each day we wait lessens our chances of survival. Your estimates of two monens before the Draegen reach Anjeluh are misinformed. You have three weekens at best."  
  
"Bialar Crais is right," Ke'air shouted from the doorway. "There's more of them showing up every day. You hear the Firebugs flying over at night, twice as many as before. Maybe we got us a little more time here, but them folks living in the bush belt havens are out of time. We've got to go and we've got to go now."  
  
There was a great deal of conversation taking place inside the tent now, husbands talking to their wives, parents to their children. Elay Sabad motioned Crais to his chair. As he approached, the leaders of the five teams formed a tight circle around them. "Time for talking is done," the old man said, giving Crais a hard look. "We'll do what we have to do. You and your people move as fast as you can." 


	6. Chapter 5

Moon Shadows Chapter 5  
  
Crais' eyes remained fixed on the galley table, pretending to study a cartograph of the remaining havens' locations. He had purposely waited until the briefing ended and the others left to broach the subject. His words came across clipped, inflexible. "I intend to allow the constituents their preference in choosing ships for transport, so long as it can be done without disagreement. Elder Sabad and Elder Ensz will settle any disputes arising over assignments. Tenis and Mondo will pilot the Astras. Kristop, Emone and Vyett will take the Hawk."  
  
It took a moment to sink in. "The hez they will," Ke'air yelled as he came to his feet. "Nimm should fly the Hawk with Moni and Yetti. And that second Astra is mine."  
  
"You will fly the commercial airbus. It has the capacity to carry nearly half the population of this haven. I insist on having the most experienced pilot at its helm."  
  
"Nimm is the best pilot in the haven. Have him fly the airbus. I'm a soldier."  
  
"Shaving your head and wishing it *does not* make it so."  
  
Ke'air leaned forward, his face denches away from Crais', his words hissed through clenched teeth. "No more than saying that you're sorry and have changed makes *you* any different."  
  
The room fell silent. Crais dropped all pretense of reading the cartograph. His eyes rose slowly to meet Ke'air's. Finally, it was out in the open. The young man knew more than he had let on. Ke'air pushed off the table and stood silently facing out the window.  
  
"What do you know?"  
  
Ke'air turned to face him, his hands slung in his pockets. He shrugged and shook his head lightly, more embarrassed than angry. "That was my temper talking. I ask you to forget those words."  
  
"*What* do you know?" His tone was no longer questioning.  
  
"I know that you wear your past like a yoke and drag it behind you every microt of every day. What I know or don't know ain't going to change anything. Do you think that *Captain* Bialar Crais is the only one who ever made mistakes? We've all done things we're not proud of. It's what we do now that counts." He walked back and sat down, hunched forward with his elbows on the table. "I should be the one in that Astra. You owe me that much."  
  
"I owe you nothing," Crais replied sharply. "We agreed the decisions would be made with the welfare of the constituents in mind. And in your case, that would be piloting the ship you are most familiar with."  
  
"Toma put you up to this, didn't she?"  
  
Crais waited a microt too long to answer.  
  
"Nimm deserves the Hawk and you know it. Tenis should fly the airbus, Kristop the tanker."  
  
"I have already made my choices known to the Elders. I believe they will support my decision. Nimm will fly the tanker. Regardless of his skill as a pilot, he is still only a boy. I will not allow it."  
  
"You are wrong."  
  
"No," Crais countered. "It was you who were wrong to pretend with me this whole time. Do the others know?"  
  
"If you mean my sister . . . no."  
  
"I mean *anyone*."  
  
"What we discussed that night was between you and me. I will keep it that way."  
  
"Whether you do or not has no bearing on my decision. You will fly the airbus. Nimm will-"  
  
The door panel slid open and Toma stepped quickly inside, dripping wet and covered with mud. She stayed just inside the door, arms bowed away from her sides, staring down at the dirty water pooling around her feet. A quick glance at the two men was enough to put her on guard. "What? Is there something I should know?"  
  
"Other than how to knock?" Crais asked brusquely.  
  
Ke'air's caught her eye and gave his head a faint shake. She heeded the warning and waited, shivering, while her brother brought her a blanket. "I've come to give my report."  
  
"The briefing was an arn ago."  
  
"I was delayed," she replied curtly. "I had the misfortune of running into a grippant. Gib and Cam were too far away to hear me call out. I missed the rendezvous and had to wait for them to find me and cut off its ugly head." She raised her skirt and turned to reveal four red puncture wounds on the back of her calf, the skin around it bruised and swollen.  
  
Crais quickly knelt to examine the wound. "What were you doing out there without a weapon?"  
  
"You can't shoot a grippant while it's got a hold of you like that," Ke'air explained, his arm circling Toma's shoulders. "The mouth'll clamp shut and leave a hole the size of your fist . . . could bleed to death. You gotta slice through the jaw muscles on both sides at once and then lop off the head. It's a two person job."  
  
"Venomous?" Crais asked.  
  
Toma shook her head. "We didn't get all three hundred rhizomes like I planned. I was short about twenty. I can get them in the morning."  
  
"You'll do no such thing," Crais answered before Ke'air had the chance. "Infecting the rhizomes around the havens will be sufficient. I'm still not satisfied that the risk of seeding the area around Shuleye-Shulah is one worth taking."  
  
"We can talk about that when I come back. First I'll take Toma home and clean up her wound."  
  
"We still have two days before the virus is delivered. Any discussion about the rhizomes can wait until tomorrow."  
  
"It ain't the rhizomes I plan on discussing."  
  
Somehow, Crais already knew that.  
  
# # #  
  
The pieces had begun to fall into place.  
  
Each haven would make its own flight assignments, both civilian and military. While there were sufficient ships to accommodate the civilians, many of them were without hetch speed or shields . . . fish in a barrel once the Draegen caught up to them. As expected, the outer perimeter of havens had already begun to collapse at an accelerated rate. Crais knew they were running out of time.  
  
He planned to divide his forces into three separate squadrons. Drekka Squadron, the largest, would attack the Draegen base on the far side of the planet, while Gammat Squadron engaged ships from the Draegen home world in the asteroid belt. The remaining ships of the Alphra Squadron would fly escort for the civilian fleet as it made its break for Tarn. He expected the Draegen to pursue them, how far was the only real question. The best he could hope for was an arns head start. In reality, he estimated less than half of that.  
  
The Draegen were truly nothing more than Peacekeepers who made no pretense about serving their own interests. Everything hinged on whether they continued the attack once the civilian aircraft cleared Tah and Draegen airspace. While their species made no distinction between killing civilians or soldiers, they were fiercely territorial, a fact he was counting on.  
  
His expected visitor arrived an arn later. He was somewhat surprised by the knock, a courtesy neither Ke'air nor Toma usually extended. Before he could answer, the door rattled open and Nimm went directly to the table. The boy slouched in a chair and began to bounce his threaded fingers lightly off the tabletop.  
  
"My brother, we got to have us a talk."  
  
"Perhaps tomorrow during the briefing would-"  
  
"We're running out of tomorrows. You and me . . . we got to talk *now*."  
  
"Very well." Crais took a seat across from him."  
  
Nimm leaned halfway across the table. "I seen Ke'air taking Toma to get her leg looked after."  
  
"Yes, I suspected as much."  
  
"*Me*, Yetti and Moni are flying that Hawk."  
  
"That is not your decision. It is mine," Crais sighed, his face pinched into a scowl. "Nimm, listen to me, you-"  
  
"Don't you call me a boy . . . don't you do it. I'm the best frelling pilot in the haven and you know it."  
  
"I do not dispute that. Flying the tanker is an important assignment. Fifty or sixty lives will be in your hands."  
  
Nimm laughed and flopped back in the chair. "Bialar . . . where the hez you think that tanker's going with a hundred Firebugs on its tail?"  
  
"That is why it is important that you-"  
  
"No! What's important is that someone flies that Hawk who can give you a chance. The only thing the pilots in those transports can do is give it the juice and go like hez. They ain't gonna outmaneuver no Draeg Cruiser if one gets through, you know that."  
  
Crais' voice was surprisingly soft. "You are a brave young man, Nimm. But I can not allow this."  
  
Nimm hunched his shoulders forward over the table again. "Bialar, you got to stop thinking with this." He patted his chest with one hand and reached across to grasp Crais' arm. "You were once a Peacekeeper . . . a soldier. You got to start thinking that way again, my brother, just for a little longer. Ten million of my people are dead already. One more ain't gonna make no difference."  
  
Crais hesitated before briefly covering Nimm's hand with his. "If your people survive, they will need young men such as yourself to rebuild this planet."  
  
"But first they got to *survive*." Microts passed while he gave his next words a great deal of thought. "My mama and my sisters will be on one of those transport ships. I'm gonna do what needs to be done . . . for them. It's a man's right to die for his family, if that's what it takes. Ain't that so?"  
  
Nimm took his lack of response as agreement and nodded as he stood.  
  
"I will take what you've said under advisement," Crais replied.  
  
Nimm stopped at the doorway and turned back, chewing absently at his bottom lip. "Ke'air is a brother to me. There ain't none better. He can fly that airbus with a bottle of slail under his belt and one eye closed."  
  
The Sebacean eyed him curiously, without response.  
  
"But he can't fly an Astra worth dren. Only been up twice, sub strata flights both times. He's more likely to crash it than get shot down."  
  
He acknowledged with a slight nod. "Good night, Nimm."  
  
# # #  
  
Of all the soldiers he had ever known, Ke'air was one of the finest. Untrained. Uneducated. Yet, it was his steadfast pursuit of nothing more than a rumor that had given the Tah people this chance for survival. Crais smiled, remembering in the days following his arrival how the brother and sister had manipulated him to their service, their skill and cunning worthy of any Peacekeeper. Ke'air Masahje was indeed a soldier; however, he was not a fighter pilot.  
  
Yes, he too would rather face the Draegen in a fight than running for his life. For the past two days he had examined the data. Never had the choice of sending men and women to their deaths weighed so heavily on him. Hate was an easier mantle.  
  
As Elder Sabad's address to the constituents ended, Crais stood and approached the bar. From the corner of his eye he saw Ke'air with his arms folded, watching him intently from the doorway of the Dom. Since the night they first spoke of it, the flight assignments were a source of constant dispute between them. The decision he was about to announce would only make it worse.  
  
"Most of you already know that the virus and vaccine were delivered yesterday. The rhizomes surrounding Anjeluh have been injected with the strain. Several hundred others were planted today outside of Shuleye- Shulah." He scanned the crowd until he located Neva Yaw, motioning her to stand. "Has everyone received the vaccine?"  
  
"All but a few of the soldiers. They said it weren't necessary."  
  
Crais let his gaze pan the soldiers, many whom were seated toward the front. He stopped momentarily at several of the faces whose names he would soon be announcing. "Everyone will receive the vaccine, regardless of assignment. Is that clear?" He clasped his hands behind him.  
  
"Like virgin bathwater," Nimm called out, drawing a round of laughter.  
  
Crais' bemused expression drew out the lighthearted moment, yet the silence that followed fell heavy and absolute. "Our fighters will launch at first light for their rendezvous points. Once in place, the Drekka squadron will focus their attack on the Draegen base at Mu'Lahr. Gammat squadron will lure what forces they can into the asteroid belt from both the planet here and the Draegen home world. The remaining squadron will fly escort for the civilian crafts."  
  
"Nimm, Emone and Vyett will pilot the Hawk, which has been assigned to the escort squadron. Mondo Vess and Tenis Dauscho will join Drekka in the Astras."  
  
"If you think you and that freller are gonna kill both my boys, you best think again," Press Dauscho shouted on approach to the bar.  
  
It was Tenis who headed him off. "Papa, no! This is an honor . . . one that I deserve."  
  
Crais did not interfere, instead considering what he had just heard. Press Dauscho aimed a threatening finger in his direction, to have it immediately knocked down by his son. Though not as stout, the younger, stronger man jostled his father back down the aisle way and directed him into his chair. He knelt alongside him, his whispered pleas meant to be private, yet many heard them.  
  
"Tomorrow at daybreak," Crais shouted to make himself heard, "you must be aboard your assigned ship. I estimate a potential wait of up to three arns prior to launch, but you must *remain* aboard your assigned vessel and wait. Those of you who have purposely split your families must say your goodbyes prior to that. Is that understood?"  
  
Words of acknowledgment rippled through the crowd, although many stared blankly or merely nodded.  
  
"That's the way it's gotta be," Ke'air called out. "Once all the pieces fall in place, we're gonna go in a hurry. Any ship that ain't ready or causes a delay could mean the difference between living and dying for a lot of people."  
  
The tears flowed freely now and an occasional sob sounded. Elder Sabad gave a nod to Crais as Grett helped him to his feet.  
  
"There will be a final briefing for all pilots in my quarters in one arn," Crais said. Elders Sabad and Ensz will remain here for a while to answer any questions. Crais exited the Domicile with Toma on his arm. Ke'air stood to the side waiting for them, his expression surprisingly relaxed.  
  
"Are you going to spend tonight with Moni?" she asked him.  
  
He shrugged initially, but then nodded.  
  
"Would you ask her to come to our home after the briefing, along with Yetti and Nimm? I've made some food . . . just for a while." She turned to Crais and pretended to straighten his collar. "And you will bring some wine?"  
  
"He'll be there," Ke'air answered. "Bialar and I have a few things to go over before the briefing. Why don't you go home and finish packing our things."  
  
She looked questioningly at Crais, who nodded. Behind them, the crowd had begun to filter out like mourners in a funeral procession. The two men strode confidently along the path, shoulder to shoulder. They dipped their heads in acknowledgement at every set of hollow eyes that sought them out for reassurance.  
  
Upon reaching the hut, Crais latched the door behind them and spun around, prepared to defend himself. To his surprise, Ke'air had continued to the galley counter, pulled two bottles of nectar from the cold box and placed them on the table.  
  
"I would prefer we did not drink prior to the briefing," Crais said, taking a seat.  
  
Ke'air uncorked the first bottle and handed it across. "And I would prefer to be flying that Astra. But we don't always get what we want out of life, do we?"  
  
"No, we do not."  
  
"You just couldn't let me have it, could you? And yet you did right by Nimm."  
  
"I *did right* by you as well, and I believe you know it."  
  
Ke'air tipped the nectar until it was half gone and then swirled the brown glass bottle, staring absently as the liquid sloshed around inside. He smacked the bottle on the table and stared hard at Crais for a microt. "I *do* believe you, Bialar. I believe everything you told me."  
  
Crais sipped the nectar and returned a curious look. "Which is where you still have me at a disadvantage. You never said how much you knew."  
  
"I reckon I know it all."  
  
"I assure you, you do not," Crais answered with half a smile.  
  
"What don't I know about? Your brother Tauvo? Talyn? Crichton? Or maybe how you lost your command? What is it you think you didn't tell me?"  
  
"I am . . . surprised that I shared this information."  
  
Ke'air regarded him amiably. "You have ached to tell someone these things for a long time, only you had no one to listen. Talyn knew, but he was too young to understand, or forgive. The prisoners at Ruebonn, the Hynerians . . . Teeg."  
  
It felt like being in the chair again, his soul stripped naked for examination, for judgment. And yet there was truth in what Ke'air said. While the chair had ripped the past from within him, he had never voluntarily admitted . . . confessed to these deeds until now. He nodded. "You hid it well. I never saw it in your face."  
  
"I hid nothing. I don't judge you." Ke'air hunkered forward. "I've only told this to one other man and he was too drunk to remember."  
  
Crais cocked his head a bit, his brow elevated in an expression the young Tah had come to know well.  
  
"Breck Dauscho's death was no accident. I killed him on purpose. He was defenseless, unable to lift a finger. I crushed his skull because I could and because I wanted to. Then I lied, pretending it was an accident to save myself. It's been ten cycles now, and every day, I still lie."  
  
"He is Press Dauscho's son? It would have been helpful to know that."  
  
"Yes, Tenis' birth partner. And I *did* tell you."  
  
Crais lightly shook his head, remembering why he seldom drank. "It was only one man," he replied in an effort to dismiss the incident.  
  
"One man? I wasn't raised a Peacekeeper like you, Bialar. I knew the right path all along. Press Dauscho was once a friend of my mama and papa. It was the shame of what I done that killed them, the Draeg only finished the job."  
  
"I'm sure they would be proud of what you're doing now," Crais replied.  
  
He shrugged. "Maybe tomorrow I'll get a chance to redeem myself, like you and Talyn did aboard the command carrier."  
  
The Sebacean's eyes remained fixed on the tabletop as he wondered if there was any end to what he had revealed that night. After a few microts, Ke'air broke the silence, his tone surprisingly lighter. "So tell me, how long have you been sleeping with my sister?"  
  
The bottle of nectar that was halfway to Crais' lips stopped in midair.  
  
"Don't you lie to me either, cause I already know better."  
  
"You are aware of my past and yet you would allow this?"  
  
He laughed. "You know my sister better than that. But I wouldn't have tried to stop it, even if I could."  
  
There seemed little point in denying it. "Although our time together has been brief, it is special to me." Crais' features softened as he spoke of her. "Toma sees me through eyes that have not witnessed the atrocities I've committed. No other woman has viewed me that way before, not as commander or as enemy. I told you once that she was adequate. In truth, she is extraordinary."  
  
"Someday you'll tell her of your past and I promise you, she'll see you no differently."  
  
Crais tensed visibly at the thought.  
  
"If we are successful, what're your plans once you reach Tarn?" Ke'air asked.  
  
"My plans have not changed. I intend to reclaim the life that was taken from me."  
  
"What life you talking about, my brother?" He drained the last of the nectar and banged the bottle down. "There ain't nothing in your past worth going back to. Forward . . . that's the direction you should be headed."  
  
"My parents were farmers. Of course, you probably *knew* that."  
  
"And my papa was a fisherman," Ke'air replied, sliding his chair back to stand. "But that was my papa, not me. And you ain't no farmer." He moved toward the door, pausing halfway to speak over his shoulder. "I've got a few goodbyes to make before the briefing." 


	7. Chapter 6

Moon Shadows Chapter 6  
  
  
  
Crais arrived early at the transport pod, leaving the others to say their goodbyes in private. At Ke'air's insistence, Toma would accompany him aboard the transport, along with Elder Sabad and Nimm's mother, Mira, and sisters, Trinn and Shaya.  
  
In the arns before daylight, with the majority of the tents struck, the inhabitants moved trancelike to their appointed vessels. Elay Sabad was already aboard when Nimm arrived with his family. They stopped at the base of the ramp, each sister in turn clutching the young soldier before hurrying aboard. His mother cupped his face, her eyes searching his. When it looked as though she might speak, he gently touched her lips with his fingers and lightly shook his head. There was nothing left to say. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingered a moment and then ascended the ramp.  
  
Nimm silently watched her disappear inside the hatch. Several microts passed before he shifted his attention to Crais. Although the air around them felt weighted, the young man's eyes remained clear, unyielding.  
  
Crais spoke first. "I wish you good fortune, Nimm."  
  
He raised his arm and grasped hands with the Sebacean. "AraNimm DuSett."  
  
"Good fortune . . . AraNimm DuSett."  
  
"You carry precious cargo, my brother. Get it there in one piece." Nimm slapped him soundly on the shoulder with his free hand, and for the first time, Crais responded with a subdued smile.  
  
Ke'air and Toma arrived next, accompanied by Emone and Vyett. The sisters, who looked resplendent in matching yellow silk caftans, clasped hands with Crais in the traditional farewell between Tah soldiers. It was time. Emone threw her arms around Ke'air's neck, kissed him and backed away. He nodded, following her with his eyes until she disappeared into the crowd with Nimm and Vyett. He turned back, gathered Toma in his arms, and after a few whispered words, motioned her up the ramp.  
  
"Take care of her," he said solemnly to Crais.  
  
"Stay close and do as I instruct you. I have no intention of allowing you to encumber me with *your* responsibilities."  
  
He grinned at that and nodded. Crais offered his hand. Ke'air raised a brow at the gesture and knocked the Sebacean's arm aside, instead grasping him by the shoulders and pulling him into a rough embrace. Before Crais could say or do anything, Ke'air released him, clapped him on the arms and strode away.  
  
Crais stepped up into the hatchway and turned back to view Anjeluh in the first shafts of daylight. The absence of the canvas dwellings left the haven looking bare, stripped of color and sound. Scattered throughout the shadows, the thirty constituents who chose to remain behind stared back, an occasional hand raised in farewell. As he gripped the handle to secure the hatch, slender arms circled his waist from behind. It occurred to him that the possibility of dying *again* had not weighed this heavily before.  
  
# # #  
  
A quarter arn after Vess and Dauscho's Astras departed for their rendezvous with Drekka Squadron, Crais gave the signal. The civilian ships skimmed the surface as they sped toward the assigned coordinate, the horizon around them speckled black with ships from the other havens. Flying low, hugging the part of the planet still swathed in daylight, over nine hundred craft of every shape and size arced up into the atmosphere at the first report of contact at Mu'Lahr. Relieved they had gotten this far undetected and without incident, Crais assumed the point position.  
  
"Drekka's taking heavy resistance from the Firebugs, but no Cruisers on the grid," Vyett reported over the comm.  
  
"There is nothing in front of us . . . so far," Crais replied. "Gammat?"  
  
"Suffering casualties, but inflicting them as well. They report a Cruiser on approach from Draegen."  
  
The dimensional imager displayed the armada of civilian craft behind the transport pod, a huge, slow-moving carcass waiting to be picked clean by the faster Draegen Firebugs. Crais compressed the image to flat screen, scowling as the hygic projection confirmed what he already knew. Even at top speed it would take another two arns to reach the dubious safety of Tarn airspace.  
  
The twelve Astras flew in formations of three. Nimm positioned the Hawk for high cover while Vyett reported what Crais already suspected as he monitored the energy signals. One by one, the Tah fighters disappeared from the screen until only those ships bearing Draegen power signatures remained . . . hundreds of them. One half arn after the battle began, Drekka and Gammat squadrons ceased to exist.  
  
On screen, Crais observed the airbus lagging back, slightly out of position. He opened a direct comm. "Maintain maximum speed and tighten up. You're drifting wide."  
  
"Acknowledged," came the reply.  
  
Crais hesitated, brow furrowed. The voice was wrong.  
  
"Ke'air?" he asked.  
  
"He's aboard the tanker," the voice, which he now recognized as that of Tenis Dauscho, responded.  
  
"What is he doing there?" Crais snapped back.  
  
Toma rushed forward and gripped the edge of the console.  
  
"He came to me shortly before lift off and said you had changed the assignments because of pressure from my father, although my father absolutely denies this. Ke'air told me that Kristop was to fly the Astra instead." Tenis paused, waiting for a reply. "These *were* your orders, were they not?"  
  
Crais' eyes went wide. He promptly closed the comm and hailed the tanker. "Report."  
  
"Everything is under control here. Is there a problem?" Kristop asked.  
  
His chin dropped to his chest.  
  
"What has he done?" Toma cried.  
  
For a moment, Crais shielded his face with an unsteady hand. Drawing a deep breath, he raised his head and straightened his shoulders. He should have known. Of all people, *he* should have known.  
  
Tears spilled across Toma's cheeks. "Why, Bialar? Why did he do this?"  
  
"Your brother was a soldier."  
  
She gripped his arm until he looked at her. He knew she meant to have an answer.  
  
"I believe that Ke'air wanted to give Press Dauscho back a son. He sought . . . redemption. Go and sit down," he said softly, yet firmly. "Do as I tell you."  
  
There was no time to mourn. A fleet of ships, so dense that the tiny blips of light formed a solid luminous ball on screen had just launched from Mu'Lahr. The Draegen cruiser en route from the asteroid field would intercept them in a quarter arn. They weren't going to make it. Only the transport pod and a handful of stratum-class vessels had any chance of outrunning them, thirty ships in all. If the attack on Mu'Lahr went well, the Tah ships would remain in formation. Every pilot knew that a command to break ranks and run meant only one thing. Crais gave the order. Instantly a handful of blue streaks colored the black space ahead of them, yet the transport pod maintained a steady speed and course.  
  
"We're staying," Elay Sabad said.  
  
Crais was uncertain if it was a statement or a question, but he nodded in response. The old man cracked a thin smile and nodded in turn. The Elder's presence seemed to comfort the women, who were all quiet for the moment. Toma had separated herself from the others and sat gazing stoically toward the floor. Crais wished he could comfort her, but for the moment the choice was not his to make.  
  
"I knew you would stay, my brother," Nimm's voice crackled over the comm.  
  
"Will the cruiser wait for the strike force from the planet's surface to make contact before they attack?  
  
"Swivelheads are what they are . . . bugs, and bugs swarm. They're probably gonna hit us at the same time."  
  
"Would they pass up a convoy of civilian ships to swarm a significantly smaller armed force?" Crais asked.  
  
Nimm's tone hinted of optimism. "It's possible. You know they're gonna go right though us like toes through an old sock anyway, spread thin like this along the perimeter. If the Astras can draw them off, it gains you a little time."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"I'm gonna break off and give it the juice . . . drop off their scans. They won't be expecting nobody from behind. Maybe with so much to aim at, some swivelhead aboard that cruiser makes a mistake . . . doesn't pay no attention to one tiny speck on the screen."  
  
"It is worth a try; however, it is likely a ship of that size will have automated defense systems."  
  
"Set to defend against known methods of attack. Maybe ol' Nimm's gonna show them something new. Don't blink, my brother."  
  
It was easy to forget he was talking to a boy, a child with the heart of a warrior, not unlike Talyn. As the Hawk departed, Crais plotted a course that sent the Astras to a vector equally distant from the civilian ships and the approaching Firebugs. Every enemy had a weakness. Perhaps, too late, he might have discovered the Draegens'. Predictability.  
  
As the Astras broke off, Elay Sabad made his way to the control panel. He steadied himself with a hand on Crais' arm, refusing the offer of a seat. Neither man spoke as they watched the Draegen ships continue on a trajectory straight toward them. The distance between the civilian vessels and the Astras began to widen. The Firebugs decelerated, almost coming to a complete stop before shifting direction in a slow, tight arc toward the Tah fighters.  
  
Crais nodded, his expression unchanged. He magnified the approaching cruiser on screen. "We cannot outrun it and we cannot go around. They have slowed, no doubt to engage us at the same time the Firebugs close in from behind. We are . . . trapped."  
  
Sabad raised a brow, sensing there was more.  
  
"If we maintain this course at our present speed and force them to attack us prior to their fighter cover arriving, it is likely that a few ships may slip past in the debris. It also increases the odds that the Hawk can return undetected."  
  
"Do Nimm, Moni and Yetti stand a chance?"  
  
"I'm afraid not. Yet, if the Hawk is able to divert the cruiser's attention, however briefly, it presents a window of opportunity for others."  
  
Sabad nodded agreeably, clasping a hand on his shoulder. "Young man, let's show them frelling bugs what we're made of."  
  
On long-range magnification, the jagged tiers and spindly docking arms of the Cruiser began to take shape. The ship was only slightly larger than Talyn, similar in size and armament to a Scarran Fracas. Staring out the view screen, shoulders squared and hands locked behind him, Crais wondered what the commander of the Draegen cruiser must think as he watched hundreds of unarmed, unshielded vessels race headlong toward their own destruction.  
  
"A Scarran Dreadnaught or Peacekeeper Command Carrier could easily destroy us at this distance," he stated aloud. "Although heavily armed, these Draegens lack range and are conventional to a fault." He tossed a glance over his shoulder at Elder Sabad. "If not for the preemptive strike I believe the Tah military, though smaller and not as well-equipped, would have ultimately defeated them."  
  
As Crais had expected, a single speck of light appeared on the edge of the tracking screen and began to close swiftly on the Cruiser. "The battle this day belongs to them," he continued, his chin tilted in thought, "but the war . . . the war is far from over. Even in our absence, I believe we will prevail over these slow-witted creatures."  
  
At hetch six, the Hawk was calling up every trad of power. As the civilian vessels inched within range, the Cruiser's forward sonic cannons opened fire. On the pod's treblin side, a freight transport carrying over a hundred Tah disintegrated, while the remainder of the detonations flashed harmlessly in front of them. The second volley erased a handful of ships from the monitor and disabled several others.  
  
The Cruiser's rear cannon began to spit fire at the approaching Hawk, which was coming in fast and low. Nimm arced the vessel as though to climb. The instant the Draegen fire reacted to the maneuver, he dropped the ship's nose and plunged straight down, crashing through the top decks of the Cruiser. Crais stared wide-eyed, his breath suspended for that eternal instant it took the Hawk's cesium and taks to detonate. The Cruiser shuddered, a yellow glow mushrooming from within the hull. He shielded his eyes against a sudden burst of white light and slapped the comm.  
  
"Brace yourselves!"  
  
The shock wave knocked him from his feet, followed by a hailstorm of debris that peppered the hull.  
  
"What happened?" Sabad cried out from the deck.  
  
Crais pulled himself to his feet and saw Toma rush to help the old man. Mira DuSett was squatted in the corner, arms wrapped around her daughters. Her eyes told him she knew her son was gone.  
  
"The Cruiser has sustained heavy damage."  
  
Ahead, the Draegen ship dangled in a slow, lazy spiral as though suspended by a line from its bow. Scans verified its propulsion and weapon systems were inoperative. The temperature inside the hull registered at two thousand klances.  
  
"Flames from the explosion apparently spread through the ventilation system. A large part of the ship is on fire."  
  
"Serves them swivelheads right," Sabad grunted. "Are we in the clear yet?"  
  
Crais weighed the data on screen and gave his head a solemn shake. "I believe we are safe from any further ships that might be dispatched from Draegen; however, the Firebugs will still overtake us before we reach Tarn airspace."  
  
He felt Toma's hand curl around his arm. He placed a hand over hers, his eyes never leaving the screen. The Astras had managed to temporarily divert the enemy squadrons, yet their time was about to run out as well. As he stared at the monitor, the distance separating the twelve fighters from the Firebugs continued to narrow until the two forces made contact. The Astras vanished.  
  
"Did you see what Nimm done?" Tenis Dauscho blurted over the comm.  
  
"We saw it," Crais replied, his tone low, strained. "His mother saw it and his sisters saw it."  
  
The comm fell silent. Before Dauscho could respond, Crais opened a channel to all ships.  
  
"Our military support is gone." His voice stalled. "They served us well. We are within an arn of Tarn airspace, soon to be overtaken by a sizeable enemy force. We have no choice but to continue on the path we have chosen. Maintain your present course at maximum speed. Begin evasive maneuvers on my command."  
  
Several ships hailed to report they had decided to take their chances alone. Others simply left, all single passenger vessels. It made no difference. Crais knew they would only survive if the Draegen *let* them go. Considering the burnt out hull of the Cruiser and its incinerated crew they left behind, he doubted that would happen.  
  
Sabad's ancient shell had not fared well in the turbulence. He sat on the deck, curled forward, favoring his right arm, which Crais suspected was broken. "How close is it gonna be?"  
  
"I believe that at least some of the ships will still reach Tarn airspace."  
  
The old man nodded feebly, narrowing his eyes questioningly at Toma. "What happened to your brother?"  
  
She looked to Crais for the answer.  
  
"He took Tenis Dauscho's place in the Astra."  
  
"And that is why he wanted me to go with you instead of on the airbus?" she asked.  
  
He considered his answer carefully. "Only partially."  
  
"Did you know?"  
  
"I should have," Crais replied with obvious regret. "He told me that perhaps this day he would find redemption. I realize only now what he meant."  
  
Toma fixed her eyes on nothing in particular, nodding.  
  
"If any of us makes it, Ke'air's one of 'em we got to thank for it," Sabad said. "I figure that's redemption enough for any man."  
  
Crais slipped his arm around Toma's waist and took her aside, seeking out what limited privacy the transport had to offer. She buried her face in his shoulder and shook with muffled sobs, quietly repeating her brother's name. A stranger to giving comfort, he held her for what brief time remained them and then placed his hands on her arms, separating her from him. She sniffed and brushed away tears before meeting his gaze. His faint smile acknowledged what she used her eyes to say.  
  
"Stay with the others," he said, touching her face. "Try to keep them calm and quiet."  
  
Toma knew him well enough to understand that this was all he was capable of giving. She nodded and went after the medical kit to treat Sabad's injuries.  
  
With unobstructed space in front of him, Crais believed there was still a chance he could make it. Staying no longer served a purpose; they were on course, the distress beacons sent. Although it made sense to go, the thought of deserting the Tah soured his stomach and coated his mouth with a bitter taste of indecision. Perhaps it was because Crichton and the others had always doubted him, or in truth because he had doubted himself. Despite Dam Ba Da and the command carrier, they would still doubt him. They would *always* doubt him. Only the Tah had believed. Even Ke'air Masahje, who knew the truth, trusted him with his sister's life.  
  
"They have dispatched squadrons to flank us," he reported.  
  
"Too bad we don't have a few more Hawks to give 'em a bloody nose," Sabad muttered.  
  
Crais raised a brow in consideration of the statement. He pivoted, chin raised, chest puffed out, and switched open a visual channel to their attackers. "Draegen strike force, this is Captain Bialar Crais . . . Peacekeeper. I warn you to discontinue your pursuit. Any act of aggression will result in your destruction. Your cruiser failed to heed my warning. I strongly suggest you do not make the same mistake."  
  
He severed the channel and gave Sabad a speculative glance.  
  
"Has that ever worked?" he asked.  
  
Before Crais could respond, a second voice sounded. "Draegen vessels, this is Tenis Dauscho, soldier of Tah. Withdraw your ships . . . or else . . . we will . . . attack!"  
  
"He gets that from his father," Sabad said with a wry grin. "Have they turned tail yet?"  
  
"They are maintaining their distance. It appears they are assessing the threat."  
  
Every microt counted now. A quarter of an arn separated them from the buffer zone, a slender neutral strip that separated Draegen and Tarn airspace. It was only a quarter of an arn, but it might as well have been a cycle. Plus, there was still no assurance that the Draegen would break off their attack once they reached it.  
  
As he expected, twenty of the Firebugs separated from the main force and resumed their approach, exactly the tactic he would have ordered. Believing it would serve no purpose for the others to hear the transmissions from this point on, he attached a comm chip alongside his ear and gave the signal to begin evasive maneuvers. He had plotted the defensive flight patterns based on vids of the past Draegen attacks available to him. A different *look* might throw them off for a while, yet with so much to shoot at, it would only postpone the inevitable.  
  
The Firebugs came straight at them from the rear. The first shot hit a nectar transport that carried twenty people. The patterns helped somewhat, but the Tah ships were too slow to outmaneuver the fighters for long. One after another, the Draegens found their target. It was eerily quiet, the explosions, the turbulence and the debris not obvious to the greater part of the fleet. Several Tah pilots hailed to report they were under attack, others went to their death without a word. A merchant transport armed with pulse cannons to deter pirates damaged one Firebug prior to being destroyed, but it was too little, too late.  
  
The main Draegen force moved in. At first they picked off the slower vessels that lagged behind. When the threatened retaliation failed to materialize they went straight for the heart, a dozen squadrons slicing forward into the belly of the fleet. Crais stared helplessly at the small dots of light on the screen . . . men, women, children, there one moment, gone the next. No cries for help. No screams. They simply disappeared.  
  
The Tah ships had spread out, zigging and zagging to avoid the swarming Firebugs. He smacked the counter with his palm, slid behind the controls and flicked the switch to manual. By cholak, he intended to make them work for it.  
  
"Those buzzards coming?" Sabad asked.  
  
"It has begun," Crais replied, turning back to catch Toma's eye. She tried to smile and he did the same. "Hold on. This is likely to be a rough ride."  
  
He arced the pod and darted directly in the path of a Firebug bearing down to intercept Dauscho in the airbus. Startled by the bold maneuver, the Draegen pilot veered off, but quickly resumed pursuit of the pod. One on one, the Draegen was no match for him. He banked, rolled and lured the Firebug into open space. Two other fighters joined the pursuit. For one brief moment he felt as one with the Leviathan again. Rolling, banking, diving . . . he was no longer the pilot, but the ship.  
  
A close miss jostled the pod and filled the view screen with a brilliant, blinding light. The pod lurched violently and the deck dropped from beneath his feet. A loud, angry groan of metal chorused the girls' screams. This was the end, he thought.  
  
He gathered a desperate breath, choking on the smoke and stench of fried circuits, and pulled himself up alongside the panel. Incredibly, the Firebugs had ceased firing. For a moment his face fell slack, but then suddenly creased and reddened with rage.  
  
"Damn you!" Crais shouted, slamming a fist on the panel again, then again. "Damn you to the eternal dark pit from where you came!"  
  
Toma staggered over, covering her mouth, coughing.  
  
"They've cut us off . . . moved fifty ships just this side of the buffer zone." Crais blurted. "They do not intend to let us leave this place alive. It is over."  
  
"Give them an order," she gasped.  
  
"There are no orders left to give," he snarled. "We have *nothing* left to fight with, *nowhere* left to run. We are finished.  
  
Toma grabbed hold of his shirt and screamed in his face. "Give . . . them . . . an . . . order."  
  
He stared at her, wide-eyed. She released his shirt and slid her hands up onto his shoulders. He steadied himself with a breath and nodded.  
  
"Remain on course. Keep going," he said resolutely over the comm.  
  
She relaxed against his chest and he folded his arms around her, his cheek rested against her head, eyes closed.  
  
Static crackled in response. " . . . Tarn . . . airspace . . . met with force . . ."  
  
"Why don't they finish us?" Sabad asked.  
  
Tenis Dausche hailed from the airbus. "Shouldn't we answer them?"  
  
Crais turned his attention back to the monitor. The line of ships ahead remained stationary, a line drawn in the sand that they were being dared to cross. He magnified the image and for an instant went slack-jawed.  
  
Prowlers.  
  
" . . . Tah civilian ships . . . violation of . . . airspace . . . "  
  
Crais shot Sabad a bewildered look. "They're Prowlers."  
  
"They here to let us in or to keep us out?"  
  
"We are unarmed. We request asylum," Crais blurted. "Acknowledge."  
  
Behind them the Firebugs continued their attack the main body of the civilian fleet, their fire concentrated on the trailing vessels.  
  
" . . . any violation of Tarn airspace . . . act of aggression . . . met with force."  
  
"These are civilians, unarmed civilians. Acknowledge . . . please."  
  
Crais locked on to the transmission and boosted the signal until he made out the brief recorded message that played over and over. " . . . any violation of Tarn airspace will be considered an act of aggression and will be met with force. The government of Tarn grants asylum to Tah civilian vessels. Draegen forces, any violation of Tarn airspace will be considered an act of aggression and will be met with force. The government of Tarn grants asylum . . . "  
  
# # #  
  
The Tarn landing coordinates situated them in a valley of rolling green grassland, barren in contrast to the lofty domed trees of Tah. Crais had landed the pod on a small rise where the following day the Elders of Tah and representatives of the Tarn government were scheduled to meet.  
  
Whether deterred by the Prowlers or by their own nature, the Draegen had aborted their attack at the buffer zone.  
  
The ship-to-ship channels were clear now, two arns already passed since the last vessel landed. With the help of Trinn and Shaya DuSett, Elay Sabad located Crais on a bluff overlooking the makeshift landing pad. The old man found a seat and waved the girls back to the transport. The Sebacean continued to stare solemnly at the activity below, mindful of the Elder's presence, but unwilling to share his thoughts.  
  
"We figure this is all that made it," Sabad finally offered.  
  
Crais glanced over and nodded.  
  
"Better'n we thought. Almost two hundred thousand people."  
  
Again, a nod, but this time he continued to gaze vacantly at the venue below.  
  
"That's more than we ever could'a hoped for."  
  
He tilted his head and gave the old man a curious look. "You could have hoped to prevent it from happening in the first place."  
  
"Coulda, woulda, shoulda," Sabad replied with a mirthless grin. "We don't choose the path, son, only the side of it we're gonna walk on."  
  
Crais seemed to consider what he said. "Your family?"  
  
With lips clenched, he gave his head a slight shake. "Grett and Rhee were aboard the tanker. Tenis told me it took a direct hit . . . tak. Never knew what hit 'em."  
  
"Kristop's ship?" Crais' eyes clouded at the news. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."  
  
"I got three grandchildren on that airbus that made it though, two nephews and a cousin."  
  
"That is something to be grateful for."  
  
The Elder nodded. "Where's that gal of yours?"  
  
The words caught him off guard. It had been a long time since he considered himself a part of someone else's life. "She and Mira went down to help with the injured, an effort I should probably join them in." He started toward Sabad. "I'll assist you back inside the transport."  
  
"No, you go ahead. I can comm the gals to come get me when I'm ready. Doubt that any of us will be gettin' much sleep tonight."  
  
Crais had already turned to leave when the old man spoke again, "Thank you for what you done."  
  
His impeccable posture shifted uncomfortably. "Good night, Elder."  
  
On the valley floor, tents began to spring up amid the odd assemblage of ships, their brilliant domed canopies muted in the fleeting daylight. Despite the day's events, there was order, people moving about with quiet purpose. He chose his footing carefully on the uneven, dirt path and reflected on Sabad's words. What he thought had been a detour was really only the final leg of the journey, one that began not at the command carrier, but fifty cycles earlier. It seemed there would be a tomorrow after all. Bialar Crais did not know what the future held for him, yet as he made his way down the hillside to find Toma, he felt that he had finally found his direction.  
  
Forward. 


	8. Epilogue

The Epilogue  
  
The harvest season on Tah came early that cycle. The seasonably warm weather was ideal for the twenty million Draegen colonists who relocated there. Biological scans prior to their arrival had failed to detect the dormant virus in the callah rhizomes. Death came swiftly and without warning. The absence of symptoms during the virus' inoculation period allowed the plague to be transmitted to the home world before the first signs of illness manifested themselves.  
  
Within a weeken of the pollen's release, over three million died on Tah, and twice that number on the planet Draegen. A monen later, with the exception of the ruling family and the hierarchy who had escaped to underground bunkers, it was over. Thousands of ships floated lifelessly between the two planets, their inhabitants seeking to flee the horror, yet too late.  
  
Eight monen after they fled their homes, the people of Tah returned and began to rebuild. The ex-Peacekeeper Captain Bialar Crais returned with them. Of those who remained behind on the planet, only a handful survived the holocaust. The largest group of seventy people eluded capture under the command of the only member of the Tah strike force to escape death . . . an Astra pilot shot down during the assault on Mu'Lahr.  
  
As the Scarren-Peacekeeper war raged across the quadrant, refugees of countless species sought out the freedom and safety of Sector 12. The populations of the planets Tah, Mayatta7, Tarn and a dozen others grew and became diverse.  
  
While he made good his vow to never again to be a soldier, Bialar Crais was instrumental in founding the Colonial Peacekeepers, a military force created to protect the newly formed coalition of planets. Other Tah names would become their cornerstone, soldiers dedicated to the preservation of freedom, among them, Ke'air Masahje, Tenis Dauscho and Trinn DuSett.  
  
Two cycles after returning to Tah, Toma Crais gave birth to twin sons, Tauvo and Talyn. A midborn daughter, Ke'airah Nimm, came a cycle later.  
  
Ultimately, Bialar Crais' destiny was to be that of neither soldier nor farmer, but of husband and father, educator and constituent. His past never found him. As the names Crichton, Aeryn . . . Scorpius faded, so too did the dark fragments of his life until like moon shadows, they floated harmless through his memory, distant reminders of a long, cold night that in the end gave way to morning. 


End file.
